Personal Narrative: Christian Martinez To Office

The second year of middle school was a period of learning my actions the hard way. My parents would always tell me, “If you don’t learn it by listening, life will teach you the hard way”. The hard way wasn’t hard, it was more petrifying. In seventh grade, I would go through an incredibly rough period mentally. I would be in a war with anxiety. These memories can be pictured instantly today; the intensity of my anxiety triggered that scar. It started out in the beginning of the year when I had a panic attack in first period. It felt like my sanity was gradually evaporating out of my body. I had to be escorted home because I thought something critical to my life’s condition was occurring. This event would be the beginning of a chain of anxiety that would lead to other negative thoughts that would haunt me all of

My freshman year everyone had branched off from me and I was pretty much a loner. I didn’t belong to any sports group, academic club, or extra afterschool curricular. It was just me, myself, and I. on day in English class, with Mrs. Nelson we were all given projects which consisted of various assignments on the topic of The Great Gatsby.” While Mrs. Nelson handed out assignments, fairly easy grades right? So wrong. When Mrs. Nelson handed me my assignment, I wanted to die (not literally). For the assignment I had to write a song based on something from the book. After class I asked her why I was given the assignment and if I was able to change it, what she told me gave me the confidence to complete the project and get that

I interviewed my stepfather, Michael Roy Garcia, because he has played a very important role in my life for a very long time. He has raised me since I was very young and brought me up as the young man that I am today. I thought it would be interesting to learn a little bit more about his younger years and how he lived when he was my age. I interviewed him on the night of September 24th for about 40 minutes in our living room. Some of the most interesting aspects of the interview were when my stepfather described his high school experience, his family life, and the community that he lived in.

It was not the voice they were familiar with to greet them. They had almost come to expect Mom’s warm, quipped voice, or perhaps Mrs. Fletcher’s sweet, pitched calls, given how many times it had happened in the third grade. They remembered the hot embarrassment of having her repeatedly yell to them in the middle of class, of having students snicker as their slow, sluggish returned to the present.

I am disconnected, lacking contact with reality. It happened in an instant and gradually intensified over time. October of 2015, I had just turned 14 and everything was average, mediocre. I was subdued at this time for reasons I cannot recall and hadn’t been talking much in class. The issue commenced in chemistry class in what lasted a second but felt like a lifetime. The class had been divided into groups, and we were assigned to create a poster. After half an hour of doing the entirety of the work myself, the poster was completed, and I was satisfied with it. Each group was to choose a person to represent their group and explain the poster. Fortunately, I was not chosen. After each poster was presented, they were each taped to the whiteboard

As kids, we were all warned about the basics. Call 911 for emergencies, tell an adult if someone touches you or even tell the teacher when someone says a bad word. But what happens when something happens to the last person you’d think it would happen to.. Yourself. Who could you actually turn to, and when the time struck, how would the words flow out to confess the crime done to you. Or even worse, would the words come out at all? “Can you tell me what happened exactly?” “It's okay to talk to us, we’re here to help you, not hurt you.” The words kept ringing in my head. But was it okay to talk to them? Speak of the unspeakable with people... people I didn't know, nor trust? Being so young I had no idea what was going on. As my heart was racing,

Freshman year at Renaissance High School, I was hanging out with the wrong crowd. I was skipping class and didn’t do classwork the handful of times I was in class. Time passed and before I knew it, it was my junior year in high school and while you are supposed to have 33 credits I only had 9 credits and 1 regent exam. When I was 16, I became depressed because I was raped. Throughout the time I spent in therapy, I was considering dropping out of high school. I thought it was too late for me to catch up with the credits I was missing. I felt as if my life had spun out of control and I couldn’t take control again. I thought I wouldn’t be anything besides a Bronx girl from the ghetto who dropped out of school. One night I was talking to an old

It was July 25th, 2003 when the first Ciudadana was born, seven pounds three ounces at 3:28 pm. I was the joy of my parent’s, brother, tias, tios , and primos ( aunt’s, uncle’s, and couisins. I was the one that had a chance, first generation. My parents describe it as an emotional experience. I was my Father’s first child and my moms only girl. It was in that room where history was made for the Mora Hernandez Morales Martinez family. The hardest part is that none of my grandmothers were there to see me growing up, they were at “home”

Growing up in a Eastern Orthodox Indian Christian home may seem simple and easy but for some, but it was hard and difficult; everyday was a new adventure. I went through so many different problems, most of which I hid from my family and friends. I felt as if I lived between two cities, the western and south asian culture. I graduated from high school and started to attend college at the New York Institute of Technology. Unfortunately, my fresh start turned into a repeat of what had occurred in high school. I was rebellious which resulted a dismiss from college. On Feb 5, the day after my birthday, my friends took me out to get drinks.That night I got very drunk, as a result I slammed

If you are looking for a job in Santa Barbara, the Historic Presidio on Canon Perdido street has 10 new job openings. Following the retirement of Dr. Jarrell Jackman on December 31st of 2015, 10 more people have either been fired or “jumped ship” from this historic State Park. One SBTHP anonymous insider explains, “They have 10 of 22 positions open. Even if they hired for these positions tomorrow, they'd have 16 staff members who were hired in the last year.” With this many people fleeing El Presidio Santa Barbara one might ask themselves if these positions (Director of Advancement, Santa Ines Mills State Historic Park Agricultural and Maintenance Supervisor, Facility Rental Coordinator, Maintenance Assistant, Event Attendant, Director of

Too many people out there strive to be like their favorite celebrity, who probably doesn’t do good with their money or time. I hope to never be one of those people, because I want to do good things with my life one day. Things similar to what Senator Philip A. Hart did with his life. Senator Hart always did what he thought to be right, and never cared what other people thought of him for it. He made it his goal to make the world a better place for his, and our, ancestors to live, by fighting for the little man through things like Antitrust Laws, Civil Rights Laws, and the Voting Rights Act of 1964. Another thing that he strived to do was make the environment better. Some national parks are here because of him and they are greatly appreciated

Like every other thirteen year old, I was curious about many things in my teenage life. Many factors came into play in this maturing stage that would create the beginning to who I will later become in the future. This was also the point in time where most of my actions weren’t too intelligent and led to necessary punishments. Although I made many mistakes in my early years, I have managed to learn from every one of them. I can still recall the day were I committed a wrong doing that was followed by an influential punishment. It all occurred in 7th grade, at the middle school I attended.

What is California besides a state? California is different for everyone it depends on who you ask. I have lived my whole life in Coalinga. Coalinga is where my California story began. This is where I got my ideas of what California truly means. California isn’t always going be driving on a smooth road there are times where you have to drive on either a bumpy road or a cracked road. Coalinga has taught me that being different is a good thing, but there are struggles along the way. That’s how life is; it’s not always a walk in the park instead it’s a burning house. Coalinga was my environment and still has a huge part of my story. It was one of the factors that molded me to who I am. In retrospect, many decisions were made to get to where I am today.

As an eight year old boy living in Manhattan, New York the last thing on your mind is leaving the place you call home. The city of dreams, the city where two great towers once stood, the city that never sleeps. Looking back at my life in New York to the way it is now, I am not so bothered by the reason I moved here with my brother and my mother. When I was eight years old my parents decided to get divorced. Unfortunately, the divorce rate is high in America but it has gone down but not by much. Now, you’re probably thinking “when is this dude going to begin to actually tell me about how this changed his life”. Well my dear reader, be prepared to get deep into the mind of Dennis Morales. After my parents were separated I was forced to adapt

On September 27, 2004, it was very hot summer day and it was the day when D-track starts their first day of school. As I was walking up the road placed along the Water Stone apartment to take the school bus for the very first time in my life, I kept repeating a school name, which was the El Cerrito Middle School. As I arrived at the end of the road, there was a bunch of the students hanging around at the bus station. I asked to one of the students, “this bus stop is for the El Ce-ri-toe Middle School?” That student seems bit confused, but friend next to her understood my accent and told me it is for the El Cerrito Middle School. This was the beginning of my journey to learn English as a foreign student.