Personal Narrative: Blue

I have always been a go-getter. Likewise, I’ve always been a visionary individual, if not a bit of a dreamer. Ever since I was little, I was fascinated by so much—books, movies, and the simple mysteries of the world—and wanted to be active in all of them. Similarly, during high school, I have worked my hardest and strived to learn and become the best I could be. If I was interested in something, whether it be in the arts or education or just something that sparked my curiosity, I would jump fully into it and try to learn more about it. I feel that with UK Blue, I can continue that mentality in college. With UK Blue, I can immerse myself into the world of law much faster than if I pursue a normal degree. Being involved in law classes as early

When the two men went to the same car dealership to see who would be helped in a decent manner, the salesman of the same racial descent as the African American tester, Glenn, was completely ignored. The white American tester, John, got help within the first few seconds of browsing from the same African American salesman that ignored Glenn (Harvey 1991). I was also surprised that Glenn was assumed to be attempting to commit a crime when browsing the record store, despite no obvious suspicious acts (Harvey 1991). Even when the two show the same need for assistance inside a store or in a parking lot, Glen was always ignored. Even the prices of items John asked about almost doubled when Glenn asked. Furthermore, when interviewed for job positions Glenn got lectured upon laziness, being late, and drug abuse, despite the preference on race over a criminal background (Pager 2007). Lastly, I was surprised they didn’t see who would be more likely to get help or hired in an inner city.

“Connor, mom and I are going to make breakfast without dairy for you in about 15 minutes. We’ll need to leave our house at noon since we need to be there by 1:00 P.M.,” my dad claimed. After knowing this, I got a glass of refreshing ice water, went into my family room, and I took my usual spot on our couch to watch some television. I knew I was nervous, but I didn’t want that to conquer my success. Once I was settled in, my siblings came stampeding into the family room.

On 10/02/2017 at 0017 hours, units were dispatched to 627 Central Ave for a report of a Domestic involving a knife. I responded at emergency speed, priority one. Upon my arrival, I located the accused female in the bathroom.

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

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.

Sometimes I wake up on the wrong side of the bed. It feels like the whole world is against me. Then, I get irritated by every small noise or movement around me. “Tap, Tap,..” the door says as it hits the wall. Smoke comes out of my ears and nose as I hear the sound. I am like a kettle slowly ready to burst “Meow, meow,..” the cat persists as he nudges my hand to pet him. I am so agitated that it took all of my emotions to not boil over and blow up from these noises. All of these sounds make me really furious, especially early in the morning.

I was sitting in one of my friend’s basement, talking, laughing and messing around like we normally do. Because the July heat was almost unbearable, we are all going to the beach later. My friends and I do a lot together and we have been a group since about 5th grade. Also my family and I share everything with each other, and we really like each other unlike some families who hardly tolerate each other. I have lived a pretty good life so far. I get good grades during the school year. There is also a chance that I will play college basketball after my last two years of high school. My life is heading in a good direction, and the whole world seems on my side. Then I get the phone call and know that something is wrong and that my life was about

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.”

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.

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

On some days, the alarm that I used to have beside my clock are the chirping birds outside. They seem to have taken pleasure of my endless complaining of wanting to go back to bed and not having to get up and do my morning routine. I dreaded waking up in the early morning for school. Where the sun has yet risen and the sky is still dark. I was leaning my head against the car window where my eyes was half lidded as they were fighting to stay awake. I keep having these in my head that repeated itself over and over again since yesterday. They always seem to have the desire to voice out the words, but I kept my mouth shut and reluctantly listened to my dad’s endless questions about whether I’m excited for school or not however I took note that

I look around the dark room, watching my allies. One sharpening one of his swords, another punching a bag of sand. And another boy in the window looking down over the city. I sit in the corner, just watching them. All I can think is, how did I become a fugitive of the entire country? I stand up and wander to the door.