Personal Narrative: Changing Colors

I was born and raised in the small but growing city of Perris, CA. This isn’t the best city out there but it tends to grow on you, and you begin to truly love it for what it is. The people, however, not so much. The community can vary from which part of the city you’re in. That’s because there’s diversity here in Perris. I’m a product of this diversity, being half Mexican and half African American. My parents fell in love after high school and later on began a family. I am the youngest of five. I have two older brothers, an older sister, and an older cousin who lives with us. The order is boy, girl, boy, boy, girl with my cousin being included in there too. We all live in the same house with my parents and are quite close with each other. They all seem to have raised me growing up due to the fact that my parents were busy trying to provide for us. This was a challenge by itself, resulting in lots of house moving and my father being unemployed for six years after losing his job. I never complained about moving because I knew that my parents were doing their absolute best and were working with all that they had and then some. This unquestionably made me adaptable to new environments and gave me a

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.

When I think about my red house, a free and easy feeling rushes over. Worries consisted of macaroni being too hot, swinging too high, and Dora, my first dog, pooping in my room. With bookshelves filled with stuffed animals and countless Pooh Bear toys, I was always content. The playground in my backyard provided days of fun, and nights in my mom and dad’s bed gave me peaceful and comforting sleep, preparing me for the next day of work. The kitchen was where I liked to claim I “worked”. Although I didn’t do a lot of the actual cooking, I liked to be there while my mom was. A love for cooking and baking developed at a young age, around the same time I realized I wanted to be just like my mom. The song “Best Day” by Taylor Swift perfectly describes

I quickly swallowed my homemade authentic Indian food leftovers and gulped down my chocolate milk. Looking down at my watch that read 11:28am, I knew that I only had two minutes until my most favorite part of the day: recess. This particular day in 5th grade, I had run a lap around the playground before getting the rest of recess to myself. As I started walking for my warmup, another student ran up and said, “My parents said that your people caused 9/11.” Completely caught off guard, I held back the tears in my eyes and tried to shake off his comment. I had never encountered something like this.

Cathy’s idea that its okay to be a late bloomer felt like an incredibly Grinnellian notions. While reasonable, I feel that it is used as an excuse for not making something out of your life and education, and I take issue with this. I understand that I am judging from a place of privilege, having never attempted to find work post-grad myself, however I simply cannot understand how individuals can “throw away” their education in this fashion. There are countless job opportunities out there, and while they may not fully encapsulate exactly what you want in your career, they do represent something else: the experience that is necessary to succeed. It felt to me like the majority of the Creative Careerists who spoke to us understood this, yet a

When I get ready for baseball, I do it slowly so I won't overlook or forget anything . First, I find my navy blue jersey with a big bright red "A" on the chest area. Then, I put my sliding shorts that's padded all inside on so it won't hurt when I slide. I grab my long white baseball pants that look like sweatpants, put them on to protect my legs, and zip them up. It's a different type of material that feels soft . Next, I put my rose red belt on and tuck my shirt in. After that, I place my navy blue cap on top of my head, grab my white Oakley's with a reddish orangish lens and set it on the bill of my hat. I go find my lucky gold chains, put them around my neck and slap my wrist bands on. I make sure I've packed all my equipment, for example

Walking away from everything you once knew and starting over is never a picnic. Leaving Iraq, and moving to America has impacted my life more than anything. I was only 4 years old at that time, and the only English I spoke was “excuse me, water please.” My family and I did not know it then, but our lives were going to change; we would become “Americanized”. Learning English was one of the massive changes that occurred, the way I dressed (culture), and even the way I had power to go to school and educate myself.

Throughout the conversation, Susan did not inform me that the home was still in First Look and not open to investors at this time. Susan did not highlight any features of the home, nor did she talk about the neighborhood or the surrounding area. When asked, Susan paused to reference the property file and stated, "In looking at the pictures it appears that it needs interior paint, carpet, appliances, and a few windows, which the previous seller must have taken." She stated, "I don't know why they have to remove things from the homes." I asked, "Do you have offers?" She paused to check the property file and answered, "No offers." I asked, "Is the property behind the home farmland?" She paused to reference the property file and replied, "It appears

Have you ever been so desperate for something that you modify your motive in its entirety? Throughout my life I’ve found myself placed in this frightening situation multiple times; the most confusing of which would be what I’ve endured this year. People in their 20s have it rough. We’re old enough to feel like we’re supposed to know what we’re doing, yet young enough to roll in the tide aimlessly and clueless and it still be acceptable. Then there’s those of us who believe we’ve got it all figured out only to be proven tremendously wrong. I have learned, however, that being tremendously wrong can lead you right where you need to be.

I don’t know how long I have been faking sleep, but the slow creak of the door startles me still. I can hear the slow, lumbering footsteps, feel their vibrations on the floor. When they stop, I can sense him bending over me, his hot breath fanning over my neck. “Nice to see you again, Ms. Esther Miller.” His gravelly voice causes goosebumps of fear to shiver down

It was a hot, humid afternoon when I jumped off of the school bus and sprinted home. The first thing that I did was to kick off my shoes and threw my book bag onto the ground with my books scattered all across the floor. I ignored the mess that I just made, and darted towards my brother’s room. Banging on the door with my fist, I couldn’t stop the adrenaline rising from my body urging him to play. He opened the door and his face cringed as he shoved something in my hand and slammed the door shut right in front of me. I continued to bang on the door and yelled for his name. For a constant five minutes, there wasn’t any noise coming from the other side of the door as I slowly sat on the ground and remembered that I was grabbing onto something.

My body was enclosed in soft fluffy blankets. Though it felt so good to be back in my own bed I also felt out of place. It was too peaceful almost, like the calm before a storm. I got out of bed dragging one of my smaller blankets with me. I wrapped it around myself as I approached my living room. I smiled seeing Shanes sleeping form sprawled across my couch. I tip toed my way to him and nudged his shoulder. "Hey Shane wake up." I spoke softly. He groaned and batted my hand away.

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

My brow furrowed and I tilted my head, sure I had misheard him. None of this made any sense—the apologies, the guilt I could feel emanating from him. There was a part of me that would have loved to have believed that he had truly changed for the better. That he was repentant—at least a little—for his past actions. But this was all too perfect—too good to not be an act. That had to be what this was—some kind of facade that he was putting on with the expectation of … what? Getting me to go along with some plan? Getting me to do some kind of work for him and Ryan? I had no idea, I just knew that I still couldn’t even find my voice to even ask.

I latched onto the two blue ropes above me. I hoisted myself up and balanced myself on the corner of the twine. I swung my legs over the next two ropes, and I climbed under the blue rope and over the red one. I paused for a moment and used my shirt to wipe of my sweaty, calloused palms. My muscles were sore and my heart was pounding in my chest, but I had to persevere. To my right, my cousin was catching up to me. He scaled up the outside of the rope obstacle until he finally reached my level. I quickly grabbed for the next rope square, and leaped through the top. One last push, and I finally landed on the metal platform. I made it.