Personal Narrative-Intolerant Religion

I walked into the room and saw him staring closely at the floor with his eyebrows scrunched together. I asked him if he was ok and he stared at me for a minute then said no. My brother had just gotten back from school and normally he would be eager to share all the details about his day, but I knew he went through something difficult today. I sat down on the bed next to him and told him to explain what happened, so I could give him some insight. The next thing he told me was that his teacher had called him a terrorist in front of the whole class and everyone laughed. My initial reaction was confusion because I was only in fifth grade and I had not experienced or witnessed someone experience the same event. I wanted to understand why his teacher

“I am petrified. I feel as if God has abandoned me. I just sat there and watched, quietly, because I had no idea what to do. As if these kind of things are normal for a 10 year old boy to witness. Everyone tells me that “it wasn’t your fault” or that “there was nothing you could have done.” I think I believe them… but the haunting images of my 16 year old brother being beaten to death tell me otherwise. The memories tell me I should have done something to save him. But I didn’t. Not a day goes by that I don’t think about what happened to my best friend and my brother.”

NYPD Standard Operational Procedure when anyone is transferred: The next day they must report in civilian attire to Health Services Division to take a Drug Screening Test. I was fuming about this involuntary transfer to Internal Affairs in the elevator when it reached the eight floor. Not familiar with Health Services Division, preoccupied by still really being pissed off, I followed a small group into a meeting room with about twenty seats. As I sat down I suddenly noticed these guys didn’t really look like cops. When one of these weird individuals said to me “I ain’t crazy, no matter what they say, I wanna be a cop and I wanna a gun.” I was momentarily confused.

I was six, I knew that we couldn’t stay one place forever. That concept was foreign. Every few years my family and I were stationed to a new place, this time 45 minutes away. Of course, being the stubborn and impatient six year old I was, that seemed a light year away. I have never had friends that lasted over 3 years. Either they left, or I moved. This time, I left first. My friends were my world. I was happy. They were devastated to get the news of my departure. Tears were mixed with the “goodbyes”, and the occasional “I’ll never forget you”.

We all live on this place called earth. Each and every one of us are destined to do great things in this world. We have goals and aspirations that we want to achieve. Some are able to get theirs, before others, but that doesn’t necessarily stop you from claiming your blessings. You have control over your own life. I looked at this story in a biblical aspect. God gave each of us the power of free will. I view the maze as my life. God has placed me at my starting point and it is up to me to start walking through it or sit and wait for somebody to give me that push or else I will I stay there forever. I have to search for what I want. It will not be handed to me . In the book I view the maze as the four characters life as well. In the beginning each of the characters were ecstatic to go through the journey of the maze. They were exciting to search for what they wanted and needed it wasn’t until Hem and Haw learned the hard-way about comfortability. To me the cheese symbolized happiness and your blessings. Your happiness, goals and blessings will not always just sit there. Sometimes they move because they need to. Either you pick up the mindset like Hem and Haw and become arrogant about it or you are like Sniff and Scuffy and know better blessings are coming your way, so you don’t get

I’m not going to lie, when Overruled was brought to my attention I was expecting some sort of Cop game or Lawyer game, like Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney, but what I got instead was a boring, half assed game that failed to entertain me for more than 1 hour.

Perhaps I’m naive or ignorant, but I never thought this would happen to us. The last few times I’ve seen you, not once have I gotten the impression that your feelings for me wavered, but I suppose I was wrong. Assuming this may be the last time I’ll ever get the chance to let my thoughts be heard I can’t let this opportunity pass by.

One day in the fifth grade, I was in the car with my grandparents. As my grandparents were having normal conversation, I sat in the back thinking about every negative comment my grandma has made about my family. My mother is Caucasian and my father is African American. They were always open about my grandma’s disagreement for our biracial family. My grandma never bluntly made a racist comment to me about my father. The comments would be hidden and it would take me ten minutes to realize something racist had been said. At this time she was making a comment about how my father does nothing but lay around all day. Finally after sitting back in silence for a long time, I snapped. I went on this full rant about how she never had anything good to say about my dad. He was working third shift for BMW, of course he would sleep during the day. By now I was screaming and crying. My grandpa had this stunned look to his face. His eyes were wide and his mouth was hanging open. My grandma’s face was the opposite: her face was bright red and her beady little eyes were shooting daggers at me. She was livid.

I know some of You’ll be hating And That give Me Motivation Much love to all my haters I been dealing with stress With a smile on my Face Growing up with no Man as a rolled Model Make me do Things on my Own

Growing up other children would call me a nigger, zebra, or an Oreo cookie. Being bi-racial was hard and the kids were mean. Children would pick on me because my mother is Caucasian. People always have this stereotype about Caucasians because what was done to the black people ancestries. The same racism that was done to their family is the same affect they were doing to me by out casting me because of my race. Filled with rage I wanted to fight and let the frustration loose; however, my parents always told me to rise above criticism. It never helped me to resolve the issue I had with them or make me feel better. Nevertheless, I never felt a sense of belonging or where I would be accepted with a certain ethnic group. I was too light to hang

The silks fascinated me. Their crimson sheets billowed in the warm breeze, promising to engulf me in their creases, tempting me towards the sky. They were the only thing in camp we were allowed to climb, and though I longed for the familiarity of a good, tall, tree, I knew those twin drapes would have to do. By reclining on the crash mat that lay under the silks to prevent injuries, and half-squinting my eyes, I could imagine that the fabrics reached up infinitely, and I longed to ascend to the top. So of course, I went to the first class.

Chucking my bags in the back her car I walked over to Mr.Andrew’s car to hop in. I waited and waited. Every second that passed the feeling would keep growing. Hate is a strong word, but I used it for these feelings. I felt anxious, sad, stressed. Finally I thought as my dad and Mr.Andrew rushed into the car. I looked at all the familiar things as we passed by. All exactly the same color, but had its own unique feel to it. The dancing and karate studio exactly the same color as the houses. The green grass of the soccer field. Donnelly Park just a couple of blocks up the street from my house. Vermont Circle, the street I’ve lived on for the past 4 years. My house 1063 B was right across from Mr.Andrew’s and Ms.Kim’s.

A somewhat biased universal truth: beginning new things is always difficult. First day of camp, first day at a new job – it’s pretty safe to say that “firsts”, whatever they may be, tend primarily appear daunting and nerve wracking. Being thrown into a situation with new people, new surroundings, and a new way of living out your day-to-day lives is enough to make those who aren’t too keen on change to run for the hills. I, unfortunately, am one of those people. More often than not, I gravitate towards expecting the worse out of a situation when I have zero clue of how things are going to play out. But I told myself college was going to be different. I had a conversation with my dad a few weeks before we left for Longwood about how I always

No two cultures are the same since every religion as its own customs and beliefs. The best way to get a better understanding of different faiths then your own is to interact with someone of a diverse belief. I recently discover amazing facts about Indians I never knew about by just spending an hour talking with my Indian friend’s mom.

Throughout your life, has anyone ever done something that had caused you to feel differently about that person? Or have you judged someone because of their actions and continued to believe that all people of the specific group do the same? As much as we hate to admit it, we have all been prejudice toward a certain group of people for different reasons. Whatever it may be, we may have experienced something that has caused us to feel a certain way about someone and their group. In the next few paragraphs, I will share an experience that has impacted me and the way I have felt toward a certain group.