Personal Narrative: Blue

Forsyth-Technical Community College Prime Time- True Colors

As a small child, one grows attached to an inanimate object at least once regardless of what the object may be. Ranging from a variety of objects, such as a blanket even up to a small car, these possessions we possess as a child do have some sort of factor in defining and communicating what you believe your identity to be but only up to a certain point in life. In Dr. Christian Jarrett’s article, “ The Psychology of Stuff and Things”, Jarrett explains to us how one's relationships with objects help determine what our identity will shape into but this opinion could be debated upon based off of one’s personal life, as we all have lived different situations in life in where we went to an inanimate object for comfort.

Another artifact I have that is important to me is a blanket that my Grammy made for me when I was born, that I still have. The ‘blankie’ was green, yellow, and purple with square patches that had little figures on them like teddy bears, and dolls and other toys. It is meaningful to me because, it is something that I have had my entire life and nothing could replace it. Another reason it is important, is because my Grammy made it and I don’t see her often because she lives in Florida so, I keep it around to remind me of her. In conclusion, this ‘blankie’ is really important to me, so that is why I have kept it around for so long.

I officially hate mornings. I wake up at 5:30, five days a week, and each time I try to cram in five extra minutes, I end up having a late start to my day. And with a late start, I end up choosing the wrong clothes to wear for the

So, I have been subscribed to several subscription boxes over the last 4 years or so, some that I have really loved and some that I really didn't. I had mostly kept my boxes to makeup, pet stuff and nerdy stuff because I knew that any of those "style" boxes would just be for smaller sizes, whereas I am a bit more pluscious and need a larger size. Just a couple months ago, I saw an ad on Facebook for one called Dia https://www.dia.co/ that was supposed to be the plus-size version of the "most popular" styling box out there (https://www.stitchfix.com/ - whose website looks a lot like the Dia website, but is for sizes S-XL.) It was only $20 for a "styling fee" each month, and they take that amount out of whatever you decide to purchase from your

In seventh grade, my classmates and I had to paint two pictures for our art class. Everyone had to do their own pair of paintings, and my teacher said that only a select few could go into the art gallery in my town, open to the public. We had to make one with a monochromatic color scheme, and one with a cool or warm color scheme. I chose black and white for the first one, and cool colors for my second. My first painting went as planned, and my teacher selected it to be part of th eart gallery collection. The second one, however, had some issues.

I often feel trapped in my everyday life. It becomes boring and routine. So when I received the opportunity to go to Belize in 7th grade, I was thrilled. I could escape everyday life for a week, spend time with friends, face fears, maybe even feel free.

As I approached the door, the loud sound of tears from behind the door grew onto me. I tried to reach for the door, but hesitance and uncertainty began to run through my body. For a moment, I stopped and took a deep breath that echoed into the dark, silent hall to prepare myself for what may lay behind the door. I waited. I slowly turned the knob and the door was now free. There lay my mother with her eyes slammed shut and the innocent, pure smirk that had always rested across her face before she passed away. A year later, I heard my name being screeched through the walls of my bedroom. My heart sank a million miles into my stomach, and I tried to pretend I didn’t hear my name being called. A few seconds later, my name was being squealed again

It was a cool September day. The leaves were starting to change colors. The air was started to get that crispy cool autumn feel to it. I was eight years old. It was my third grade year. My mom and dad both worked so my grandma (who we called nana.) picked me up every day after school. My nana and I always made some type of food every time I would come over. It didn’t matter if we were baking, making an actual meal or just making a snack, we always did something.

It took three hours to relax enough for sleep, but once I did, I kept waking from a recurring nightmare. Charles’s eyes staring at me. Changing colors. Blue. Green. Amber. Violet. The crackle of an electric storm detonating his eyes. I kept hearing his voice. “You are my match.”

When I was four months old, I was adopted from India. The uniqueness of this situation is that my adoptive parents are of Polish, German and Mexican descent. Due to this, I have always had the opportunity to surround myself to a variety of cultures. Furthermore, it has influenced me to have a different perspective. Growing up in a small community has shown the lesser of diversity. At times, it was hard to fit in but I have and will always treat my fellow man with respect and acceptance. No matter their ethnicity religion or color, I will treat everyone the same. I was raised by a single parent and know what it is like to go without and believe all should be treated equally. I want to go into the medical field to continue to help people and

It’s the summer of 1999 and I’m sitting on a beach in Latvia, hunched over my new Nikon f100 fidgeting with my lens. What had been the point of me saving up money for a year for this camera if I wasn’t going to take a single photo that I liked? I was feeling utterly frustrated. Here I was, in one of the most beautiful parts of Europe unable to take a single great photograph. All of a sudden my thoughts were interrupted by a spray of sand in my face. I looked up to see a young girl in a blue denim romper sauntering by haughtily in plastic heels. Well she was trying to saunter. They were the kind of shoes that came in those toy sets with costume jewelry and tiaras. They weren’t meant to be worn out, and definitely not meant to be worn on the

A Color Coordinated mess. It’s funny since the fifth grade I've had my life laid out with a mission each day waiting to be fulfilled. But I’ve learned that nothing in life is one-sided and I’m not the exception. I’m what you would consider organized chaos. I have my life mapped out and my calendar booked months in advance and at the same time I can't decide what I want for dinner. I change my outfit approximately fifteen times before deciding I liked my first choice the best. I suffer from severe anxiety, indecisiveness, and yet confidence. Which I must say is an odd combination of qualities, but the day I learned to believe in myself I never went back. I expect myself to succeed as much as I expect myself to fail and keep on trying. To me

To be addled, as defined by the Oxford Dictionary, is the inability to think clearly, or to simply be confused. Uncomfortably standing in the corner of a despondent hospital room, crisp air blowing down my neck, the monotonous sound of doctors’ mumbles gradually faded into a pool of somber. My hands anxiously tapped against the smooth, egg-colored wall. I was only five years old, a dependent, whiny child, completely unaware of the situation; for I was addled. For some reason, I felt like I had been submerged in the color blue, as everything from floor to ceiling in that miserable room had been of that shade.

I was born in a plastic machine. People usually pay 25 cents for me, then when I get out of there I get bounced and bounced I’m really tall, I float I don’t fly. Every day I see my friends Flying by. I’m awake day and night. What am