Personal Narrative By Elie Wiesel

A saying i've kept to myself is to get back up when knocked down. This saying doesn’t just stand for getting up when literally knocked down but can keep a deeper meaning than what it says as for example being knocked down by a difficult obstacle to overcome and getting up to find a way to get past it and achieving it. Some people may not see this as something important but they don’t think about how getting up after knocked down can be something that can or would have been like a positive outcome into their life and how they are given two choices when knocked down which is to stay down or get back up and continue going forward.

Growing up with a father in the military, you move around a lot more than you would like to. I was born just east of St. Louis in a city called Shiloh in Illinois. When I was two years old my dad got the assignment to move to Hawaii. We spent seven great years in Hawaii, we had one of the greatest churches I have ever been to name New Hope. New Hope was a lot like Olivet's atmosphere, the people were always friendly and there always something to keep someone busy. I used to dance at church, I did hip-hop and interpretive dance, but you could never tell that from the way I look now.

The inn keeper's parlor was the best in town, they told her. His wife was wearing a heavy dress, adorned with lace and a massive broach that she raised a plump hand to touch, as if to be certain it was still there. They spoke of the massive rug, bought from Paris, and the finely crafted furniture they all sat upon. The preacher listened quietly, smiling as though their vanity wasn't a sin, while Mrs. Hartford eyed the dress with longing. Della thought that the dress was tasteless. The lace was poorly made, and the line of the bodice wasn't flattering. The fabric was an odd shade between blue and green, and the woman inside it was far less appealing. She didn't bother to mention that her own parlor had been filled with crystal, and priceless art her father had collected around the world. She didn't mention that her toys had cost more than Mrs. Johnson's gowns, or that she was mispronouncing the tea they'd been served. Not to be kind, not to be deceptive, but because did not matter anymore. Nothing mattered anymore. She'd given up that life to marry Ben, given up her family, given up her home and her gowns and her education.

It was a beautiful day in early winter 2012, my Family had had a big dinner at my uncle's house, the plan was to go a Blazers game after we had all gotten done eating. I had moved to Tigard oregon with my Mom in summer of 2012 from Connecticut, about six months before all of this had happened. We had no idea where anything was, the only thing we had someone what of idea was my uncle's house and the grocery store, but beyond that we were basically lost all the time. At this time we didn't have a car yet, so relied mostly on my uncle taking us places.

In addition to the black Armani suit, Michael wore the Italian-leather shoes and white silk shirt exceptionally. Because he had loosened his finely striped silver tie after carrying her into the office, it was the only item of his clothing out of place.

“Take it do as I ask” I insisted to Elie (pg.75). I wanted to give my only son our family’s inheritance, but he was refusing to accept it. I take one long look at Elie, observing of his face. Although I was shaking with fear I put on a brave face for my son. “Time is running out” I said with pain in my voice as I tried to convince him one last time before it’s too late (pg. 75). He finally caved in and took it. Now the most painful part came and we said our final goodbyes. As I walked away, I looked back thinking that would be the last time I ever saw my son; it took everything in me not to break down and cry. Every step I took seemed to be getting heavier and heavier as if my feet knew that the end was near. We all walked in a line with our

I was feed every day at least one meal a day but quickly I got used to that feeling when at first my stomach would feel like it was shrinking, I eventually got to the point when I couldn’t finish my once a day meal and would save some for a later snack. Groves would sometimes come to the room and made sure I wasn't having a fun time being here, being on like some sort of vacation.

*disclaimer: bare with me... the next 5 chapters are crap because i wrote them over a year ago...chapter 19 will be the start of some great shit*

I am an enslaved African American bought by an army surgeon. My owner’s name is John Emerson. Emerson bought me in Missouri, but took me and his family with him to an army base in Illinois. Illinois is above the North latitude 36 degrees 30’N, so it is a free state. We did not stay very long in Illinois because Emerson was called to Wisconsin Territory which is also a free slave state. I can’t believe that I have been in TWO free states, yet I am still be counted as a slave. Once Emerson was done in Wisconsin he packed up his family and me, and went back to Missouri. Soon after we returned Emerson passed away. Emerson was a loyal owner. Since I am property of Emerson and he is now deceased what am I? Free? Still a slave? So back in 1846, I sued for my freedom from Emerson’s wife-Irene.

I then said, “I’m not sure what is wrong but I’ve been having a little pain and I can’t keep any food down.” The doctor then checked me out, took tests, and then pretty much told me that I was a crazy old lady who was imagining things. Even though that doctor didn’t believe me, I knew something was wrong. I went and tried to get other doctors to believe me, but like my doctor, no one did. After a couple days of pain and no one believing me, I then went to my daughters house and all of us headed to the Jay County Hospital.

I grew up in California where both of my parents were involved with gangs and drugs by the time they were in middle school. They grew up like this, getting involved with the wrong people, getting into fights for dumb reasons, even getting in trouble with the authorities. Of course, that was normal for them because they were surrounded by it through friends and family. They continued to live that life style even when they met each other at the ages of 18 and 23. They didn't like each other at first, but they eventually started dating. My mom ended up getting pregnant later that year and tried to take a break from all of it, but my dad didn't stop and that caused some tension and arguing between them.

I crossed the channel in the hull of a steamer ‘Le Brochet’. I went via La Havre because it was cheaper, but it meant the journey took two days all up. That was a miserable time. Stowed in the fetid saloon of the ship, I was ill throughout the trip. All I remember of the crossing is claustrophobic darkness, punctuated by occasional groaning. Almost a hundred and fifty other third class passengers accompanied me in the saloon. It cost less than a cabin, and so the saloon attracted the motley poor like a free Church lunch. In the squalid space there was just enough room to lie down. I passed the journey with a bucket next to my head, into which I periodically retched. I was in good company; almost all the saloon dwellers were likewise occupied. We weren’t allowed on deck – only passengers with a cabin could go above. While they restored themselves in the fresh air, we remained in the stifling dark below. Slowly time ebbed away below deck. Bucket in hand, vomit in bucket. Sweaty darkness all around.

In March, I found out the one of the worst things a teenager could hear; my parents were getting a divorce. How was I supposed to handle that information. The two people who came second in my life next to God, the two people that promised they would always be together, were now ripping our family into two broken halves; instead of one solid whole. Most people might pray to God, and ask him for healing but how could I; God was supposed to protect our family, and he let us fall apart.

Driving up a steep mountain in my 2007 trailblazer, my palms are sweaty and I am shaking. “This is finally happening”, I whisper to myself. Its mid October ,and the crisp air in the Rocky Mountains is tousling my hair through the open window. I am thinking about when I first dreamt of this moment, it was junior year of high school and we had just read “Walden” by Ralph Waldo Emerson . I was so eager to escape like he did, to separate myself from society , to not be influenced by anything except for nature itself. This is the time I have been waiting for, for eight long years... my entire life is about to change.

“Our greatest glory is not in never failing, but in rising every time we fail.” Ralph Waldo Emerson. I have, in my professional life, relied on others to do tasks that I did not have the skill sets for, instead of learning how to do them myself. I saw this as delegating. Now that I do not have the means to pay skilled people to do those tasks; I am horribly under qualified to work for other businesses. I made a professional decision to step back and go back to school, to learn these skills; as well as, a personal decision to take lower level courses to brush up on the basics. Although, I could easily let someone else do the work for me and I would have a piece of paper saying I have the skills to do the work; I would struggle and not be successful.