Personal Narrative: I Believe In Speaking

When my mother asked me to read a book a few months ago, I was hesitant to agree. A stressful school year was approaching, and seeing my friends on a Saturday night seemed much more appealing. When I was younger, curling up with a good book was a typical pastime. Then came high school, and reading was replaced with countless hours of studying, cheer practice, and trying to figure out when I could catch up on some much needed rest.

Currently my garde is laying at a C, and I could not figure why it was so low untill I saw I was missing a whole entire untit of homework. I checked my binder and saw that I already had it done and was wondering if you entered the grades wrong. If not I was wondering if you could allow me to show it to you for credit or do some extra

I feel my style of practice continues to expand from the knowledge I've gained from this, and my other courses as well as from the many hours I have spent at the hospital with my field instructor. In addition, I am definitely more self-confident and informed in my approach when interacting with the patients and staff at the hospital. One downside, is that there is not enough time in the day, because, I have once again fallen behind on some school work, so I'm trying to employ some new time management techniques that will allow me to go to work, spend time at my practicum site and complete my assignments with fidelity. With all that said I thought this course was a very eye-opening experience and I am excited as well as looking forward to actually

The scalding rays of the Arizona sun beat down on me nearly as violently as my grandmother’s nagging questions. Yet, sitting under this canopy, basking in the sun was much more preferable than attending school during the second semester of senior year-- when motivation runs scarce. There came a point in the day where the questions were no longer unbearable and I developed somewhat of a naive understanding of why my grandparents care about me in such immense depths. However, it was not their questions that brought me a new state of mind that particular day, it was their stories.

When talking in meetings I am very aware that quite frequently I talked out what I am thinking, and sometimes it’s hard for my team or staff to follow. I would like to continue to work on composing my thoughts and ideas in my mind before speaking them a lot so that my team members have a better idea of what I am trying to

Further down the road, I kept looking out the window and seeing the green trees passing by while my mom was on the phone and my dad kept driving until we got to our destination. Meanwhile, the car was at a stop, we felt the car move that we actually crashed into the car in front of us and we got rear-ended that contained my head hit from seat to seat that gave me a black

“Tienes que leer y escribir en ingles,” (I had to read and write in English), said my father. People would think, “Well you have an advantage because you speak Spanish.” Well, it was easier said than done, growing up in two different worlds it was difficult my vocabularies would mix up and I would end up making a new tongue twister. Therefore, I was not fortunate with my literacy in any aspect. I would get called dumb since I would not pronounce every vowel, word nor consonants correctly. I had a rough time in elementary school because I was a “joke”, but that did not stop me from learning I taught myself how to read and write in English.

i wanted too do something tooday but it was dificult i was gona have fun butt i fel like it is impossible becuse im so dum. i want to cryi wanted too do something tooday but it was dificult i was gona have fun butt i fel like it is impossible becuse im so dum. i want to cryi wanted too do something tooday but it was dificult i was gona have fun butt i fel like it is impossible becuse im so dum. i want to cryi wanted too do something tooday but it was dificult i was gona have fun butt i fel like it is impossible becuse im so dum. i want to

My voice is heard through my writing; although seemingly silent within the language of ink veiled across my paper, it is powerful, deafening, resilient. I speak my mind without speaking, and it is, to me, somehow worth more than any vibration of vocal cords. When writing, I am free; free to clearly express thoughts that usually turn into a muddled mess on my tongue; free to “say” what I wish; free to be

I watched as Reedfang disappeared into the bushes with Leafwatcher by his side until their tails vanished from my line of sight. My eyes momentarily closed as I gathered my bearings, praying to Starclan that I wouldn't have any needs for my claws.

Have I ever been afraid to speak? Not often am I asked that question and to little surprise to anyone who knows me will not be surprised when I answer no. In general I am never afraid to speak, to with hold your voice you can cause harm and a great disservice to those around who can hear you.

Fear, worry, and anxiety captivated me and held me hostage. Academics, family pressures, and the constant overbearing question of the future had torn me apart. The weight of the world swallowed me whole and controlled my every move. Most of all, I feared the failure associated with change. People say that we should welcome change; nonetheless, I still dreaded the future. Life without the security blanket of my closest friends and family frightened me because for the first time, the choices I were to make were all my own. Senior year is meant to be a year of relaxation and preparation for the future; however, my senior year had turned into an internal World War III.

Culture could most simply be described as what makes you, you. So when I sat down to think about what made me who I am today, one object came to mind. It was a painting. A small painting, close to one and a half by two feet. Laying upon the canvas was a vivid display of reds, yellows, and greens forming a single fire like daisy. It seemed so real you could smell the sweet air that would blow gently through the pedals making the flower .dance. Signed at the bottom was "Carol Stone," my grandmother on my fathers side.

"Actions speak louder than words," exists as one of the truest phrases of all time. Many consider reactions to specific situations, but true character manifests when acts without any thought of recognition for their response. For example, after Christmas, my family and I visited a restaurant to enjoy a meal together. Our waitress possessed an unquestionable type of kindness and hospitality that one only wishes to receive every time they venture out for a meal. Sadly, a table within earshot range griped about this particular waitress multiple times due to forgotten take out containers and napkins. They knew not that the genuine waitress sustained an inadequate amount of sleep the night before as a result of a six month old daughter at home. Additionally, the customers did not account for the numerous other tables making an innumerable amount of requests of her, and that

”Pegale cabron! Mas fuerte” I heard voices yelling and chanting from a distance that didn’t seem too far, flickering a danger flag in my head. I looked around until i saw a quick movement from the corner of my eye. It appeared to be two men fighting underneath the old massive stadium i had just finished running around with my older sister. I wanted to go and investigate the situation but in the back of my i head i heard my mom’s voice saying “don’t talk to stranger, avoid danger.” It took some convincing but my sister soon agreed to check it out, and In minutes we were on our way to where we thought the fight was happening.