Personal Narrative Analysis

When I made the decision to go to school to obtain my LPN, I was twenty-four years old. I was married with a 3 year old child and worked full time as a Certified Nursing Assistant with Hospice. My husband worked in the union but due to plants closing down in our area, he was laid off, and I was the main financial support for my family. I knew things were not going to be easy but I was determined to be successful, not only for me but for my family. I began the process of enrolling in November 2009 and was all set to begin school in April of 2010. I was beyond excited for this journey to begin. I had a wonderful support system, not only at home but with my co-workers as well and I knew nothing was standing in my way. Fast forward to December

All my life I have had the opportunity to travel and broaden my horizons. I have been blessed with the ability to accumulate to different cultures and environments. From being born in Italy, moving to Japan, and now currently residing in Louisiana, I have seen more than what most others can only dream. Those three very different places are just a few of the dozens areas of the world I have traveled to, yet out of all of destinations I have visited New York City most definitely tops the list. This city is a world of it's own in my eyes. There is no other place I can see myself continuing my journey in life. It is no secret that college is a major stepping stone in the life of a young adult. It carves the path to their future. Ever since I can remember my parents have pushed me towards gaining a good

Eighteen years ago I was delivered in a hospital in Tokyo, Japan and was taken to the United States embassy a month later to become a United States citizen. My parents had been living in Japan for two years, my father was on a work vista, and we stayed for another six. Whenever I talk about my early years I am aware it was a unique upbringing that would not have been possible a hundred years ago. Social and economic changes, and technological innovations in the 20th century impacted me even though I was born three years before the turn of the century.

I am a proud San Francisco native, whose parents come from Mexico and Guatemala. Due to housing opportunities, my family moved from San Francisco to the Peninsula, where we eventually rented a house in South San Francisco. South San Francisco is what I consider to be home and my community. I grew up in a Mexican, single-parent household with my mother and brother. Alongside my mother, I witnessed and experienced at an early age sexism, racism, and poverty. My mother was discriminated against the majority of her life not only because she was a woman, but a Mexican woman at that. Many times, she was unable to get a decent, living-wage job and had to repeatedly settle for low-paying jobs as a house-cleaner, babysitter, and even selling water filters door-to-door. I remember playing with the newest toys only when my mom

Me just like any other human being make mistakes we’re not perfect, but we’re all special in our own ways. Something I feel makes me special is that at a very young age i started playing sports. I now consider myself an athlete. That makes me feel special because not everyone is capable of having to do school work and play sports during school. Sports have also showed me discipline. Another thing that it showed me was how to take leadership and help others.

When I was in fifth grade, I was caught between two worlds, playing the a woodwind or strings instrument. After much thought on which one, I decided that the violin was the best instrument for me, because it had a beautiful, unique sound, plus the possibilities are incredible. I could receive a compliment from a teacher, or even get accepted to the symphony. In elementary, I was known as the best player for my patience and understanding of every piece we played. “Your daughter is my best student in all 4 schools that I teach,” exclaimed my orchestra teacher, Ms. Nichols, to my mother. Ever since then, I have been practicing my violin every minute of every day. At the end of my sixth grade year, I received a letter stating that I have been invited

Statistics show that around 50% of married couples get divorced in the United States, which would make my family and I just another statistic. 8 years ago, I was only 10, my brother was barely 7, my mom decided to leave my dad. I clearly remember sitting in the car with my nana, I was a smart kid, and asking her what was going to happen with my mom and dad. She didn’t beat around the bush or talk down to me as a child, she said “I think they’ll end up divorcing.” And to many people’s surprise, I felt excited at that idea. It wasn’t that my parents constantly fought or were abusive, but somehow I knew at 10 years old that the best thing for all of us was this separation.

Anytime I hear someone say that I’ve changed or that I'm a lot different now than I used it be, it brings to mind a certain set of events that occurred just before I entered high school. In eighth grade I had few worries and spent most of my time playing sports. Although I made good grades, sports were my number one priority. I often wondered what I would do in my free time if I didn’t play a sport. Little did I know I would soon find out. Midway through my 8th grade football season I tore my ACL (anterior crucial ligament) . The injury required surgery and meant that I would be out of all sports for at least six months. Everyone said I'd be back on the field in no time, but six months sounded like an eternity. My goal was to complete

The human body is an amazing work of art capable of achieving extraordinary things in the most extraordinary situations. Intra-cellular communication, processing, and reactions seem nearly instantaneous to our conscious selves. Recognition is usually absent from the capabilities of an impressive network of highspeed neurological highways – until a life-threatening event shocks you into acknowledgement of those systems.

I strongly believe that memories that have been repressed and then recovered should not be allowed in court to prosecute an alleged abuser. This comes mainly from the fact that our memory can be altered. Changes to what we believe we saw can come from another person's observations about a situation or from our own false revision of the situation. They can cause false memories that corrode the accurate ones. In my opinion and from personal experience, if something traumatic occurs, it will never be forgotten even if suppression is used, even if the event occurred at a young age. These traumatic experiences can cause a lack of connection and ill-feeling toward someone or something. Retrieval, which is the process of reactivating information that

The opposite of depression is note happiness, but vitality. And that was vitality that seemed to seep away from me in that moment. Everything there was to do seemed like too much work. And one of the things that often gets lost in discussions of depression is that you know it’s ridiculous. You know it’s ridiculous while you’re experiencing it. You know that most people manage to go through their daily routines and it’s not a big deal and yet you are nonetheless in its grip and you are unable to figure out any way around it. And so I began to feel myself doing less and thinking less and feeling less.

I was snapped out of my trance by the return of the chairwoman’s voice. “Thank you all for your ideas.” Her eyesight shifted towards me. “Ms. Cohen, do you have anything else to add?”

As I stood up from my seat, I felt blood rushing through my veins; felt the temperature rising in my cheeks; felt the piercing gaze of the upperclassmen looking at me - the nervous, timid freshman walking down the aisle to the front of the theater.

It was the end of 6th grade, one of the most anticipating times of one’s childhood that marked the beginning of what my older sister referred to as, “junior high - the worst years of every poor kid’s life.” I knew I had to pick a school, as my parents had told me about GCA and how it would offer me a greater challenge than South Valley made it’s way to my elementary school, and that’s when I decided I had to get my hands on it and just enroll to the school that would prepare me the most. The more I looked into it I had realized that this school was really all about challenging yourself and pushing yourself to do more. But in all honesty, I wasn't sure if I wanted to put in all that extra effort.

It was right in front of me, staring me straight in the face, I was sweating like a turkey on Christmas Eve. I heard the loud “BANG” of the gun and the pounding of feet all around me, I had to run even though I felt like I was going to throw up the little food I had eaten in preparation. This cross country course was a huge monster ready to take me and all of my hard work throughout the summer down, if I was willing to let it get to me.