Personal Narrative-High School

Going through high school the days were all the same, except for game days. There was just something different about the culture of the school. You could almost feel the excitement in the air. Every “Good luck tonight,” that was received made it feel like the whole school was rooting for me. This was my senior year and tonight was an especially big game. The game that night would decide if we made playoffs and if I could step on the court as a Hawk again.

School was exactly how I had imagined it to be while I was in grade school. I had the privilege of having recess, early lunch hours, and most importantly, naptime! The day I started sixth grade, my whole world seem as if it flipped upside down. I was no longer at the top of the “food chain”, school was way more stressful, and I had, in fact, found new talents within myself.

My palms were sweating, my heart was racing, I had no idea what to expect or who I was going to meet. I was never the type of girl to embrace new situations, I hated change and I wasn’t very good with meeting new people. I figured once I got to high school it would be my chance to start all over, turn the page in my book of life, and flip over a new leaf. I wanted to finally be the girl that fit in with everyone. I had imagined myself going to parties with big groups of my new friends, having sleepovers and doing all of the things cool high school kids normally do. I was certain that my high school career would be just like one of those really corny teen movies and I would live happily ever after with the homecoming crown and the boy of my

Lavenders’ ESL class, she decided that it was time for me to attend regular classes. I was so afraid, not because I would not be competent in the classes, but because I did not think I was ready for a full emergent in the language. I was competent and knowledgeable on the subjects assigned, Geography, Math, Science, but English? I was just completely in a mortified stage. Would I understand the teacher, classmates? Would I be able to speak clearly enough, so they would understand me? That weekend, before I was to report to my first all-English class on Monday, I did not sleep nor could I eat anything thinking about that moment. Monday morning I walked into Mr. Garfield English classroom. Mr. Garret was aware of me been assigned to his class; he was standing right at the door. When I came in, the first thing Mr. Garret did, was to ask the class to be quiet for a minute. He then proceeded to introduce me to them. I had never felt such a panic as I did at that moment. I was sweating, quivering; I felt a thousand eyes just staring at me. Mr. Garret quickly noticed my somber demeanor and immediately asked me to have a seat. I am sure he thought I was going to have a panic attack, and I’m not sure if I wouldn’t have if he did not step in quickly and asked me to have a

The classroom set up was very different than what I was used to back in Nepal. I didn’t know anyone in there. I didn’t know what to do, so I just managed to sit in the chair that was nearby the door. All the other students were staring at me like something was wrong with me. In reality, everything felt wrong to me when I was in the situation where it felt so bad that I just wanted to quit. It seemed like I was on a one-way street, and I couldn’t figure out what I should do and how I would get out from it. It was almost the end of that class. The time passed just by watching a documentary on the literature’s time period. After the bell rang, all the students left the classroom; then I walked to my teacher with the problem I was having. I was lost in every other class as the hallways get crowded and the buildings were huge. He helped me solve the problems that I had, and my first day of the new school passed in the same way as it did first three hours of that

I had arrived at my destination- a lot sooner than I wanted to. I hurried in the classroom to get the best seat, which was always in the back row by a window. The professor walked in with an energy that I had never encountered before. She carried herself with an air of confidence. She spoke with certainty. She introduced herself and dove right into the first lesson before the first five minutes of class were even over. She informed us that today we would be introducing ourselves to the entire class. I could feel myself becoming nauseous. My hands started shaking and my mind started sorting through a million cliché facts about myself. I could not seem to think of my favorite color at the moment. I am an average, boring, normal eighteen-year-old girl who has a crippling fear of public speaking. That is as far as I got before I heard the professor call my

After sitting at the same desk for three years, I figured I was beyond seeing anything new. I was wrong. After that third year I saw a lot more than I thought I would. I went up to high school and everything was so much different. The grades were harder, the assignments were harder and the teachers were harder.

High School has definitely given me many potentials. Transferring from Leuzinger High School to Moreno Valley High School has made me noticed that I’ve learned a lot such as: how to problem solve, how to not give up on myself, and how to accomplish difficult tasks. For example, when I attended Leuzinger High School, I wasn’t open-minded. This is because I didn’t take any useful opportunity for granted such as tutoring or extra credit. Then, when I moved to Moreno Valley High School, I finally took a chance to take any opportunity into consideration because more people influenced me, which made me believe in myself. The first opportunity I took for myself was going to tutoring for honors pre calculus. Because I played sports, I had to balance

I lived in Sterling, Illinois, in a decent sized house outside city limits. I never actually attended middle school, as I was home-schooled for sixth, seventh, and eighth grades. During home-school, I got to spend all of my day dealing with my siblings (which is worse than it sounds). If it wasn't my siblings, it was my dad, who I don't really talk to as is. Nothing is the matter between us, I just don't talk much. Most of my time not in school or dealing with my family was spent in video games or exploring a nearby forest. There wasn't much between those two, as I only had two friends I talked to. I worried for the longest time that I would go my middle school AND high school years with only those two friends. I wasn't one that could be described

Back within seventh grade towards the start of the school year I was put into a course called "Advanced Art" and I sat with a friend. My friend, Javier, wasn't suppose to have the class so he was sure to leave within weeks. During the time with him I noticed this big group of friends that seemed quite interesting to me. Around the time when he had his classes changed the song "Wrecking Ball" by Miley Cyrus came along and I drew a funny picture about it. I introduced myself into the big group and at first they seemed off about me but then they accepted me, especially this one girl named Tiffany. We had a few classes together so we would sit together and this was a start of a story of best friends.

"Things end, but memories last forever." My weekend was sure to prove that. Even though the seniors of 2016 are in readiness to graduate we will most definitely miss these times consumed together. On top of my roof, we sat chattering about what we are going to do after senior year. We discussed about how May 21, 2016, would arrive way before we wanted it to come upon us; once that day comes, we will realize only then that we might never see everyone out of our class again. As we all were articulating about how college will be contrary, how we will study so much more, and how tough it really might be; we promised to never drift apart from the best friends that we are. Finally, two a.m. crept up on us, and we knew it was time to get some

I hurriedly got my uniform on and waited for my mom. “Mom I am going to be late,” I yelled. (hook)

A clock ticked breaking the solitude of the dull classroom, the hand made a steady “tick” sound as it progressed on it’s journey to make it all the way back up to the twelve. Behind me a large window looked upon a busy highway. I gazed down on the cars making their way in the world. I wondered where they were going, who drove those cars, what grand adventures were they about to embark on? My focus consumed every corner of my current existence, other than where it had been required, on the blank page of notebook in front of me. It was my Sophmore year of high school. I had landed myself in an ‘Advance Placement Journalism’ class, on the whim I desired to take a class where I had plenty of friends, so I would not have to sit alone. I continued to stare from the clock to the busy world beyond my grasps, until the faithful buzzer toned. In a rush of merriment I raised up, swooped my faithful bag over my shoulder and made a beeline for the door. “Ali, could you please stay back?” The voice constructed a barrier between my escape and me. A rush of fear and embarrassment swept my demeanor, as I plopped myself back upon my cold chair half desk combo. My mind screamed in panic, “what had I done?” Curious sets of eyes gawked upon me as they departed from the dull classroom. The old plump teacher made her way to my desk and sighed, “What are your plans, Ali? What are your dreams? What do you want in life?” I gazed out again at the cars, unable

Tried and sleepy students all looking at the professor. It's Morning that how I can tell almost of the students in here half sleep with one eye open and the other half close. She sits next to me.  It's something on her mind.  I can tell it written all over her face.  Words that have meaning like emotional feeling for someone you care about you never seen for a long time since elementary years.  Papers with no lines; Skateboard without wheels.  He said to me.  He's a skateboard phonetic. Since the age of five. He eat and sleep with that skateboard. The woman next to me with her head in the book. Really in the book. I mean with tears that fall like fallen raindrops. They was going out until something happened. He cheating. I think he was frame, but he loved her like his skateboards collections. Now,  She isn't talking to him. I'm Chester Melbourne, Her name is Melody Sweets.  I know.  I know her last name "Sweets" Her mom got remarried over the summer.  Melody's stepfather he's last name is Sweets sometime sour. We been in here for four hours, Then I have to go to work at the campus

Page after page, paragraph after paragraph, hoping for the class to be over so I would not be picked to read out loud. Minutes had passed with few students left to chose from to read and me being one of them. Time was passing by slower and slower it seemed, with sweat on my forehead and my heart rate speeding up. I became very nervous. Until...I suddenly awoke from my deep sleep.