Personal Narrative: Applying For College Essay

Alfreda was a first generation college student. She had a difficult academic experience being one of only four African American students majoring in animal science. She used her social life to help her cope with the experience. Alfreda mentioned Zinck 's night which is a campus tradition named after a bar keeper in Ithaca that owned a bar that was a haven for college students. Alfreda found no interest in this event, however, she did participate in Slope day because it was an opportunity for her and her friends to celebrate the last day of school. Instead of participating in the university-wide homecoming, she mentions a separate homecoming sponsored by a Black fraternity, Alpha Phi Alpha and the Festival of Black Gospel. She states:

Ever since I was a kid I have always thought about what college I was eventually going to go to. I made the decision in high school that I wanted to be a special education teacher, so I thought about some schools that had that teaching program. My number one school I wanted to attend that had the best teaching program was East Carolina University. Having ECU as my number one choice lead me to apply there. Weeks after I applied I got a letter telling me some sad news that I was not accepted. Since I applied to ECU and did not get in, I was now thinking about applying to other schools like Methodist University or maybe a community college.

Once upon a midnight summer, while I danced to the daintily drummer, The rhythmic sound, paired to my fierce, tender heartbeat As I stopped, I started staring, then I began caring, For me, you were daring, daring and sweet, You pulled me closer, wrapping your arms around me, making me feeling complete Something about you makes me feel offbeat Your dangerously sharp eyes caught me, picked me up, and spun me around, Forgetting all my regrets and just living up these nights, My heart laced with love, and my mind, boggling with infinite thoughts,

The sudden roar on the engine starting gives me goose bumps. Putting on my fire suit and strapping on my helmet gives me a feeling of protection. Yes, I’m getting ready to bring my iron gladiator to battle. My uncle and I spent a long while working on building the machines of mass destruction. The welding of two metals together forms a bond so strong it can never be broken. We spent countless nights just doing this. My uncle throws something across the shop at me and yells “u getting that thing done?” I would respond with “I thought you were going to build it for me” nights like these where an everyday thing but grew farther apart as the summer drew to an end.

After a competitive brawl of a game with grass stains on my knees, jersey, and socks; with sweat drenching my hair and clothes, as if I just took a shower, I began to walk over to a table set up amongst the fans. They wait anxiously for my team to walk over after our big win. Each one of my teammates including myself are set at a table close to the bleachers, which set adjacent from the players bench across the pitch. I set down by my new set of teammates, as we got ready to sign posters for children with aspirations to play at collegiate level soccer one day, for parents and grand parents who couldn?t be more honored to be witnessing their little girls hard work finally paying off. It was recent that I experienced this

You’ve been looking forward to your 4th of July…a weekend of your newly found Independence…when, just a mere two weeks ago you delivered a hand-written, heart-felt note…to You Know Who…scribbling out something like…

I used to be a fighter. I used to walk confidently, I was never afraid to kick or scream or punch. I’ve grown up in a house of loud, stubborn people with strong opinions. But one day, I started feeling dull. I don’t remember when or how it happened, really. I guess that the looks I got and the laughter from other kids across the room began to take a toll on me. So in the Summer of sixth grade I started changing. I began to wear makeup. I dyed and straightened what used to be a huge frizzy mess of orange hair. I stopped wearing color even. During my first few weeks of middle school, I quickly learned two things. One being that people like you a lot more if your pretty, and the other being that loud, bold personalities are frowned upon by my peers. So I got quieter and cowardly.

“I want to be a firefighter, construction worker, and professional race car driver when I grow up.” This was my proud childhood statement I would use when asked the question, “what do you want to be when you grow up?” This question in particular is one that will be asked awfully early in one’s childhood, as well as very late in a young adults final years before venturing out into the “real world”. Like many other young children, I grew up with the mindset of having a exciting, heroic, and lively job for when I got older. I dreamt of operating heavy construction machinery, saving families while extinguishing fires of a decaying building, and speeding past vibrant and heavily decalled race cars. However, as I grew older and gained more realistic

My favorite games were always the ones that came down to the last possession with only 5 seconds left. When the ticking of the clock became my own heartbeat, and I could hear each individual squeak of sneakers on the court, I waited for the ball to come sailing through the air as the accompanying adrenaline surged through my veins. This high seemed to go on forever, yet in reality it was only a mere second. Now with this jolt of energy I was ready. I received the ball, and, with a quick pump fake and cross over dribble I would be around the opponents’ point guard. I would come to a jump stop and shoot! Time stopped as the buzzer went off and I waited to see if the ball would drop into the basket, it made its usual arching course to the basket, flipping over itself again and again.  But this time I was on the ground writhing in pain.  It was a moment.

When in the course of college academics it becomes necessary to type personal narratives, without so much as a hint of a topic, it can drive a student to some rather interesting conclusions. Some of these conclusions may be as simple as “Hmm, what should I write about?” Or perhaps more complicated and “Great, it’s 2:00 A.M. the day the paper is due and I have nothing typed.” No matter the situation the creative thinking process can be greatly limited, thus I present to you the narrative of me typing my personal narrative essay.

I was born in Bogota, Colombia. During my childhood schooling years I attended Gimnasio de Los Cerros in Bogota. Attending secondary schooling in Colombia prepared me well for my academic pursuits in the United States. Through my studies, my fondness of mathematics continued to grow. On my pursuit of scholastic success mathematical equations found its persuasive way to speak to me. It is for this reason I have chosen for my career to follow the pathway in relation to mathematics. But even more so, what would ultimately lay down the roots of my personal character was the death of my father at the age of three. As years passed by I came to understand I was now “the man of the house”. I do not reflect back at death of my father as being something

Sometimes in life we have to know when’s the right time to stop fighting. Sometimes it’s not as simple as, this is wrong, so I’m going to fight it. Sometimes, there’s just too many possible consequences and risk of someone else getting hurt in the process. It’s especially hard when you’re trying to fight for someone else, because you feel they deserve better, but having to come to the realization that fighting it will only make it worse. I was lucky enough to realize this before I made things worse, but I know full well now what could have happened if I didn’t stop.

My mom called me crying about a week ago, after she dropped me off at the University of Akron and helped me move in my things. In an attempt to console her I repeated that I wasn’t very far from my hometown, Brecksville, and it wouldn’t be difficult to see me. Between sobs, she asked me what I’ve learned from her; if I felt she had taught me everything she should’ve. I’ve never been so sure of an answer in my life. My mom has inspired me more than anyone and has taught me to be hardworking, independent, accepting of others and myself, and to never sell myself short. It has been my dream since fourth grade to be lawyer, so while it is difficult to be away from people at home who I love, I know that I am in the right place and doing the right

July 22nd, 2008 is when my obsession started, it was my father's birthday, every year on his birthday, we make it into a huge party that year. There was a surprise that my mother put gathered she had two dancers, Darla and Darlene. Both came out with vibrant bright colors that would ____ . When the music started the skirt movement, the way it swirled, the way it waved at you. They danced 2 songs, but those two songs stunned me. That day on I knew I wanted to become a Folklorico dancer.

After the initial stumbling block more commonly known as residential life, I faced the towering challenge of settling into classes. Once I had registered (which was itself something of a dilemma), I had in my hand a sheet of abbreviations that rivaled a military briefing or a computer manual. My first class, on a Thursday morning, was located in a building called CBW, which stood for Classroom Building West. Surely the