Personal Narrative-It's A Girl

I smoothed down my long skirt and made my way up the steps. I knew other girls would probably be wearing something a bit more revealing, after all this is a Halloween party and as Cady says, 'In Girl World, Halloween is the one day a year when a girl can dress up like a total slut and no other girls can say anything else about it.' But I was not up for the short dress that is needed for the mouse costume, or the tight latex suit made for cat woman. Instead, I had decided to go dressed as a girl from the 50's.

It was December 27th 1997, as the mother looked into her handsome baby’s eyes. A tear ran down her face as she realizes this is the first and last time she sees the baby’s face, the last time she will be able to strokes her baby boys face, the last time she gets to see those eyes open. As she realizes that she won’t be able to watch him take his first steps and hear him say his first words, dress him for his first day of school, never see him grow up into a powerful young man just like his father.

I was twelve years old when my family moved to the mountains of Humboldt County we moved at the beginning of winter and my father said there would be snow where we were going to live. I had never seen snow before and I couldn’t wait to build snowmen, throw snowballs and build igloos, like I had seen children on television do. A child’s excitement blossomed at the prospect of a new winter paradise

It’s May 29, 2016 it’s sunny outside but there’s a storm on the way. The hospital room was cramped with the two incubators in there. I’m at the hospital visiting my sister and my nieces Lillian and Meredith. I am holding Lillian for the first time and I have to be extremely careful with her head because she just had an iv taken out of her head earlier that day. She’s only about 3 ounces and she’s about a foot long. She’s sleeping peacefully while I hum a lullaby to her. Both my nieces are strong because they have fought off little cold like bronchitis, but another person who is strong is my sister Ashley who herself is 5’2 with brown hair with blonde highlights throughout her hair. She may look tiny in size but physically and mentally

That I would feel everything’ I want to scream out to them but nothing comes out my body just rests asleep. “Why do I even need an operation in the first pace?”

When did doing something “like a girl” mean being weak? When did it become something that even as women, we portray in a negative way?

My guilt was trapped behind my heart, knocking and pinching at the organ to open up and let it free. But I found a secret route. It could leave without anyone knowing it was even there.

Savannah's black hair, touched lightly upon her shoulders. Her gaunt, and gloomy face being revealed as she reached her dainty hand up to push back her long overgrown fringe. Her brown eyes were that of an old mahogany door ; flecks of deep brown were intertwined expertly with lighter hues. A sigh was released from her dry, cracked lips as she focused her eyes on the torn picture in front of her. A single tear managed to escape from her glossy eyes, rolling down her lightly flushed cheeks and onto the table. Her hands reached up to her face to wipe away the tears, leaving her under eyes red and puffy. She grabbed each side of the photo and held it together, staring directly at the obvious tear right between her and her ex-girlfriend. Her trembling

This dream was way beyond romantic, but of course it also has to be a little weird. It was like the manga I read called First Girl. In the beginning of what I remember; I was following a guy under water. When we had reached the destination, he had said a chant in front of two very large tiki statues and when he was finished they had opened up to a secret passageway. When he went in, I had waited for a few seconds and then I had said the following chant myself and continued into the passage as well (I never saw what was in there).

“Congratulations it is a girl”. These are the final words that I told a girl, the last ones she would hear before I took her life. I wanted her to die like this sad, lonely, and in fear. No one would understand why I felt this way. My only friend were the voices that were in my head yelling and ringing like sirens, never stopping making me want to hurt people and do bad things. I wanted to control it, everyday before I go I want to stop myself, but I just can't.

I went to Fordham Preparatory School a private, Jesuit, all-male high school located in the Bronx, New York City. My school has many aspects that make me like and dislike it. I had to wear a suit jacket, tie, and dress pants as my uniform which I did not like. Not being able to choose what I wanted to wear was frustrating and I felt very restricted. I also felt part of a set wearing the same clothes as everyone else. I am very glad that I am able to wear what I wish in college.

For this assignment, I decided to interview a girl that I’ve known for some time now. She goes by the name Elizabeth because in America, majority of the people she’s met have had a very difficult time trying pronounce her real given name properly. I asked her what the real name everybody is struggling with is, and she said Oluwafolorunsho. This name is of a Nigerian decent.

The first time I was ever called a Feminist was in my freshman year of high school. It was a hot day in early June. Every student was itching to be set free on their summer vacation. Before the bell rang, The afternoon announcements rang out over the intercom with the usual monotonous stuff like the clubs that were meeting after school that day, and last call to hand in uniforms for the sports season that had just ended. Then came the standard dress code announcement. "Ladies and gentleman, we know the weather is heating up, but please still adhere to the schools dress code. This means that shorts must be fingertip length, and there are to be no open toed shoes or flip flops." After going to public school all my life, I had heard all of these

Vacations, a time to drink fruity drinks and tan on the beach with the sun on your face. Vacations should be a fun and happy time for everyone. Instead of having the time of my life on my trip, I experienced Titanic 2, in my own way. I got burned, almost died tubing, and got into some illegal trouble with a taxi service. Worst of all, got told something that has changed me forever.

What makes a person who they are? The way they dress? Their family? Friends? Attitude? To me, what really makes a person who they are, is their experiences. Their hardships, triumphs, what makes them happy, what devastates them. We all are human beings and are made so similar. With sharing so many things in common, we are all such different people. Everything we have all gone through, shapes us into who we are today; Why we are the way we are.