Personal Narrative

My grandparents raised me when I was young because my parents were busy toiling away at work to support my siblings and I. Through my grandparents, I learned strength. My grandfather, a former political activist and soldier in Vietnam, suffered a gigantic loss: Losing the Vietnam war. Still, he refused to kneel under the hand of oppression. He restarted his life in a brand new, foreign country with seven children,

I arrived at practice with my shoes laced, hair pulled back, and the mindset that I was unstoppable. I could play against every member of my team and come out the victor on any given day. It was the first day of practice that week, and challenge matches were scheduled to begin. The team went through our daily shuffle of drills, conditioning, and running to prepare for what was lying ahead. While warming up with my friends, I felt great, talking about homecoming, boys, and a variety of irrelevant events. I felt ready. The odds were in my favor and nobody could stop me.

She carries symbolic bracelets and tangled up headphones and torn playbills. She carries crumpled sheet music, a highlighted play script, a rusty gun and holster, an old calculator, worn out journals for writing fragmented lyrics, passionate feelings, unforgotten memories, and so much more. Twice or three times a week she carries packets of law and a lunch that was packed that morning. She carries a water bottle that is always half empty, or much like herself, half full, depending on how you see it. Wyatt carries the priceless shark tooth necklace she gave him, locked away somewhere unknown. Hannah carries the cheap but meaningful books that she gave her, unread but still valued. Her mother carries the candy she gave her, hard but sweet, a reflection of her soul. Something they all carried in common, was that they all carried something that was given; taking turns, they carried pieces of her shattered heart.

People often think of language as a connector, something that brings people together by helping them share experiences, feelings, ideas, etc. We, however, are interested in how language sets people apart. Start with the peculiarities of your own personal language—the voice you use when speaking most intimately to yourself, the vocabulary that spills out when you're startled, or special phrases and gestures that no one else seems to use or even understand—and tell us how your language makes you unique. You may want to think about subtle riffs or idiosyncrasies based on cadence, rhythm, rhyme, or (mis)pronunciation.

    It was six A.M. on a beautiful yet brisk Saturday morning and I was fast asleep. Suddenly I was ripped from my blissful dream world by the incessant blaring of my alarm. Groggy, I shut off the alarm and stumbled into the kitchen for breakfast. I had a light breakfast consisting of warm cinnamon toast and butter so as to not upset my stomach during the looming Cross Country race.

‘’I was on my way to back to school night I was extremely nervous to meet my teacher and when I got there I heard Andrew then I turned around and…’’ One time when I was in second grade I was on my way to back to school night I went to meet my teacher her name was Ms. Pepler. She was nice at helping me put my stuff in my desk but I thought she would be meaner in the school year so when me and my mom got back in the car I said ‘’I think Ms. pepler is going to be mean this year.’’ My mom said ‘’ she seemed really nice at back to school night’’ then I said maybe you're right.’’ Now it is the first day of school and I was nervous because I thought I had a mean teacher and I didn't have any friends it was just me and my cousin. The first day of

It was one of those oddities; though identical twins, they had celebrated different birthdays: first, Molly, born on April 1, 1972, at 11:47 PM, and second came Megan on April 2 at 12:17 AM. Their parents, Meryl and Bill, thought it best that the twins celebrate on their own days and had always held separate parties for them. Bill adored “his girls,” and Megan was probably his favorite. A parent shouldn’t have a favorite child, yet, they all, more than likely do. It’s either the one that they’ve carried some sort of guilt about, for one reason or another, or the one that highly reminds them of themselves. In Bill’s case, it was definitely Megan, he enjoyed her spunk (a quality he thought missing from the other two children). It was his attraction to her high-spiritedness that had Meryl, on countless occasions telling him; “You are letting her get away with

I do not remember much from middle school; however I do recall having trouble fitting in and making friends. For the Central Bucks School District, seventh grade marks the beginning of middle school. My awkward 13-year-old self, with bright blue hair, was immersed in a pool of people at Holicong Middle School I had never met before. I had spent the past seven years with the same people and now they were mixed in with this monstrous crowd of new people, forcing me to make new friends. I was not a normal kid by society’s standards, and I still am a quirky kid, but at that point in my life I was still trying to figure out how to behave in a social setting. That was not a simple task for me; I was a hyperactive kid who dyed her hair a plethora of colors. To make matters worse, I was not mixed in with a pleasant group of people.

I slowly sit up and rest my back against the headboard of my old bed. Closing my eyes and taking everything in that has happen since I’ve woken up. Being in my old room, brings back a lot of memories of when I used to live here as a child. Moments with James, moments with my mum. I let a tear escape my eye, quickly wiping it away. I can’t let it get to me anymore. It was five years ago. A few more tears escape and I go to whip it away again when light bounces off the scars on my arm.

It is a warm May night, and I couldn't be any happier. I am sitting in the middle of the Gwinnett Arena anxiously waiting to hear my name. "Look someone is waving the Mexican flag up there," the guy next to me said as he points to the audience. I turn around to see, and realize it's my family. I wasn't embarrassed at all. Actually, I was happy to see the excitement on their face. They call my name, and I go up to get my diploma. "WOW! I MADE IT," I think to myself. I immidiately wave my diploma at them and they wave the Mexican flag even harder. After the ceremony was over, we had over 500 seniors trying to find their families, it was total chaos. I didn't have a way to contact my family since we weren't allowed to have phones with us during

Starts in the morning i step out of my car and it is pitch dark and eerie quiet, its early morning the day after a tragic football game and everyone is tired and anticipating the meet ahead. We all sit muming with each other and feeling at perfect temperature. When i hear the push, hum of the bus arriving up the drive. Everyone is ready just to get on the bus to sleep. On the bus i can't get to sleep because i'm sharing my seat with a girl and the bus driver doesn't stop talking. We show up at the meet and i'm waiting for the tent to get set up so i can put my bag down. My shoulder was aching and the grass was scratching my leg. During the warm up i'm excited because two male teammates run with us. And one smells good. At the beginning of the

“You can have it if you want,” my father said, pointing to the Playboy magazine on his desk. His index finger interrupted my line of vision, and my eyes shot up to make contact with his.

You can never judge a book by it's cover, sometimes that book may be pretty on the outside but it could be broken on the inside like a mirror that was dropped with pieces that could not be put back together. I come from a family where we were once a “Family” but we let differences brake us. At this point in my life I was eleven years old learning to be independent,learning how to handle school on my own, not letting others define me as a person or who i was going to become. Again I was only eleven, a lot of eleven year olds i know today didn't do the things I did as a kid. Now there was a time in my life where i played with barbies and had a favorite blanket that i could not let go of. Every family goes through things there is no such thing as perfect.

Growing up, regularity was my best friend. I was perfectly happy to live each day as I did the last one, knowing exactly what to expect, always prepared for everything. Experiencing new things was far out of my extremely small comfort zone, which is why I was so thankful that my family’s summer vacation was the exact same each year.

The strobe lights mirrored the pulsations of my heart, it felt more real than ever. Dancing up against my friends, I gazed his way to see if he was even noticing. With the DJ now finding the chance to rest, I strutted confidently just past his group of friends in hope of catching his attention.