Personal Narrative-Changing Colors

The leaves were brown and the weather was cold, but not unbearably cold. The morning had just started and the sun was barely out. I was eight years old at the time and it was Thanksgiving Day, and on top of the various assortment of food, my family and I had relatives coming to our house to partake in this Thanksgiving feast. My mother had gotten numerous amounts of groceries from the store throughout the week, including potatoes, green beans, cranberry sauce, mix for stuffing, a humongous ham, and to top it if we had the staple for every Thanksgiving, a turkey. I could already smell the scent of a honey baked ham in the oven as I got out of bed and started my day in the bathroom.

I was seven years old and it was in the middle of the summer and I almost got run over by a car. The day was going really good just like any other summer day; I got up, got dressed, ate breakfast, and went outside to play. For breakfast that day we had pancakes that tasted like they were made by angels. Before Chris and I went outside our mom yelled, “Be back by lunch or I’m going to send your dad out there to get you!”

“Whats for lunch today?” Maya had asked while rubbing her stomach. “I'm like so hungry right now!”

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

Living in a melting pot such as Los Angeles, mentioning stereotypes would come off as a touchy subject, which in public most people would swear they don’t stereotype people — well I’ll beg to differ. Growing up, I predominately went to school and associated myself with Blacks and Hispanics. In High School, I started having friends of an even more diverse background. It is safe to say I have been exposed to a variety of people from different cultures and upbringings, therefore I have been always comfortable to be in the presents of anyone. I will not say the exposure made me color blind; I understood the concept of institutional racism, prejudice, and stereotypes at a young age. When I was younger a bunch of the non-black kids would create

AC/DC’s “Back in Black” blared over the weight room’s speakers as I first sized up a dull iron bar. Staring straight ahead at the blank white wall, time slowed down. I racked my brain trying to recall what I had seen the lifters around me do. Phil, our weight room coach, commanded me, “Get over the bar.” I inched closer to the weight, toes beneath the bar, and attempted to lift it first off the ground, and then up on top of my shoulders.

I’m on the verge of calling her an asshole, but quickly change my mind. Instead I say, “Whitney, my life isn’t in a downward spiral and as for tarnishing the family name that’s absurd. Since I recall, two horse thieves, four drug smugglers, six prostitutes and hordes of corrupt politicians hang from your family tree. Honestly; no one will notice a college dropout perched on one of its branches. More to the point, this decision came about because the sight of a white canvas and a paint brush in my hand induces unbelievable boredom; furthermore, I’ve accepted an offer put forth by Tommy Apple, an iconic tattoo artist and owner of the multinational corporation, Ink It

The saying goes “Change is what makes the world go round”. Well, my world would move much smoother if I got rid of a few things. Table condiments, meatloaf and roller chairs have got to go! My world would be a better place if these items didn’t exist!

Tracy really seemed to be enjoying herself, trying all sorts of different foods. She loaded up a plate, with a sampling of everything that would fit.

The first time I did something that changed me from how acted and think was when I read a book. It was around 6th grade on a Friday, we were assigned to read a book over the weekend and complete a summary over the book. My Language Arts teacher, Mrs. Wonnell, had a bunch of books on her desk. We had to go get them off of her desk and pick which one we wanted. She called us up one by one to pick out a book that we would like.

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.”

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

On the day of incident, I was told that we had many customers than usual and the cooler was almost empty, so it had to be done in the night. Tragically, while I was stocking up one of the top shelf in the cooler, I backed up without noticing there was an open case of coke, classic longneck cans, on the floor. Mistakenly, I stepped on that open case and fell down on other inventory. After that incident, I sat in the cooler for a few minute to calm myself, and then went to sit in the office. In the result of this incident anything could have happen. For example, if I happen to hit my head, I could have lost consciousness and die in there.

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.

So at the beginning of grade 11 I had no friends and I wasn't really happy at school but I started getting close with 2 girls by the name Ruqiya and Sabrina. We got really close we would do anything together and they meant the world to me. But like every friendship we had our ups and downs but the same thing would always happen and I was always stuck in the middle of them Ruqiya and Sabrina. They didn't really like each other so when something would happen they would both talk back about one another and I didn’t really like that because they were both my friends. So after the problems would got worse I decided it would be better if we parted ways instead. So I slowly stopped talking to them and started hanging out with two of