Personal Narrative: I Bring Me To The Amnesia

I come across a rear projection TV on the side of the road one day, load it up, and take it home. I eagerly spend a good four hours stripping it down and saving as much as I can. I end up with a 48” fresnel lens, two hefty speakers, a couple large capacitors, three glass lenses, and a glass mirror. Left over is a box of electronic waste and the particle board skeleton of a TV. I take the electronics to my local electronics recycling center, and set the wooden frame on the curb. I took 70 lbs. of trash and turned it into 10 lbs. of treasure ripe for projects, 30 lbs. of recyclables that would have gone to a landfill, and 30 lbs. of refuse that I had fun

I have lost my grandpa and have not gotten over the idea of it. When I was in the sixth grade, my grandfather was very sick; he could barely walk. While my grandmother and some other family members went uptown for some household things, food, and medication, I was told to take care of him. Yet, I wanted to play with my friends outside. He told me to go ahead and play, but for some reason I just got mad and slammed the door and left. Around nighttime, I seen an ambulance pull up to my grandparents’ house.

“Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaagggghhhh!” Screamed the crowd of people as they plummeted down a drop on one of the most terrifying roller coasters i've ever seen. We were on vacation in Universal Studios, Hollywood, and believe me, I was not pleased. My dad always says I shouldn’t be scared of roller coasters, but I don't listen to him. I’m terrified of roller coasters, so since he knows I don’t listen to him, he let my little sister choose the ride I had to go on, which almost scared me to death.

This is rather unfortunate because it implies the impression that after we are dead we aren’t worth remembering, not even by an animal. I do not believe this is true, because I have lots of people who have passed in my life and I still remember them; not necessarily grieving them, but I haven’t forgotten

There I am standing alone at the top of Mount Everest. I have everything I need to go back to the bottom. I don’t use any of it. I am a soldier, and my mission is not complete. Alone, I am still not afraid. Temperature is 28 degrees, but I am not letting it affect my skills. I walk alone through the dark, eerie woods. It has been 32 hours, and I have still not completed my objective. I was sent to assassinate the leader of an military trained group. The group was out here training to intercept signal for a helicopter transporting cargo to an unknown military base in the valley of the mountain Everest. I have intercepted their signal and found out where exactly they were located. I found them, and it wasn’t an easy mission. Many

More people would understand if I was in a wheelchair. Everything would be clear if I had a terminal illness or something wrong on the outside. The problem is that my wounds aren't discernible to most people. My scars aren't tangible. Instead of receiving sympathy from those I first let in, I was told to get over it. I was told that I wasn’t depressed because I have a loving family. I was told I wasn’t sad because I’m well off, because I do well in school, because I’m a guy. Despite that, I learned to find strength in my brokenness so I could make myself whole again.

I stumble out my one-night-stand’s apartment grasping on to the nearest railing for support. Sloppily, I buckle my belt and take a swig from my vodka bottle, stinging my throat with every drop. The bottle slips out of my hand crashing at my feet, almost in slow motion. I giggle hysterically and hobble down the steps. My brain is numb and filled with psychotic thoughts. I grab the car door handle and slump into the cushioned seat, nearly passing out, from a night of careless sex and non-stop alcohol can really put a load on a 5’6, skinny guy. Without thinking a grab my keys and start the car pulling out to the abandoned, dimly lit freeway. Everything was better at night.

“Not for the first time, an argument had broken out over breakfast at number four Privet Drive. Mr. Vernon Dursley had been woken in the early hours of the morning by a loud, hooting noise from his nephew Harry’s room.” — these are the words that framed my childhood. Unlike other children, who were raised to spend time playing outside, I was raised alongside a young British wizard with a scar on his forehead and a penchant for finding trouble. Of course, the adventures of Harry Potter are not actually fact; however, to a boy gleefully resting on his mother’s lap their authenticity was never in question. I can still remember so many things about the way that she would read to me on those lazy Sunday afternoons. Entranced by her soft voice rising and falling as each syllable passed over her lips, I sat and dreamed for endless hours.

As an altogether functional human being, I can deduce that making mistakes come as naturally as breathing air. Therefore, I'm aware that numerous people would utilize this do-over to rectify a life-changing blunder. Often taken for granted, our successes and failures give us an indispensable opportunity to learn from. For the most part, I can say that I’m satisfied with the experience I have gained through my past. Therefore, if there existed a possibility of a do-over to change any point in my life, it would be a rather inconvenient option for me. I'm distinctive because of the choices I've made, setting me apart from the rest. In addition, I've come to learn more from my mistakes than from my successes. My failures remind me not to repeat

My struggle was when I hurt my wrist when I was 12. I was playing basketball at Spiece Fieldhouse for my SportOne team. We were playing a pool play game for a tournament on a Saturday and the tournament was on Sunday. I sprained my wrist falling on the floor.

Waking up to nothing seemed to be my daily routine. No one cared about me and honestly I didn't care for anyone either. My mom did her usual invitation to breakfast playing the part of a caring mother but I can see through it . I get dressed and put on my usual locket my grandmother gave me before passing away, the only person who I felt love for, that is if it existed she was the closest thing to it. It was a beautiful silver heart with beautiful tiny colorful diamonds inside , she said to me as she pressed it in my hands, “ Raina you're more than what you are set to believe your are, great things are waiting for you.” She always knew what to say even if I didn't believe it I felt better with her warm soft words.

Imagine always having to move every other year. For some people that are outgoing, it would be fun people they get to meet a lot of new people. For people like me, the quiet ones, it's a different story. I’m more of a quiet person and I feel that it's because I've never really talked to people because I’ve moved so much.

Lying in bed after a sleepless night, I had to find my inner strength and courage to overcome the sadness that would surely plague this day. What once belonged to him, and still holding the distinct scent of his cologne, I took the freshly pressed suit from the closet and drove to the church in a fog. It was a day that I had wished would never come. Holding the paper tight in my hand, I could feel my palms getting sweaty and my pulse starting to race. A still silence flowed through the room as I stepped up to the podium and took a minute to glance at all the somber people whose lives he touched. It was time to say goodbye to grandpa. Holding back tears and with my voice cracking, I started to read aloud the eulogy I had written last night:

Benjamin Franklin once said “Tell me and I forget. Teach me and I remember. Involve me and I learn.” This quote speaks to me because, I’ve had people tell me things and teach me things, but I didn’t learn until I involved myself. Even though the work was time consuming, My ENF Class taught me important skills because I improved my writing and I learned important vocabulary.

This week was exam week. I went into this week feeling good about the exam until it was handed to me, then I drew a blank. After looking at my grade I feel a little better. The chapter memory seems like it is going to be a little bit challenging. The memory tests were fun. The number test was easier. I used my fingers as numbers. As the teacher would say a number I would move my fingers as it I were to be playing a piano reciting my numbers while she would say her. It actually worked. The first memory test was good until “artichoke”. Really? I was doing so good until that moment. The eye witness video was an eye opener. It made me realize how much your mind can actually play a trick on you. You can influence your mind into believing something