Personal Narrative: It's Like The Irony

That was a lot of money, and I didnt want to let Tony down so I got in the car and started to drive. As I drove the road was empty. I had confidence I was not going o get caught. It was a slightly wormer day out witch might have been because the sun was out. I had the windows down and was blaring music just trying to enjoy life when a cop pulls out behind me.

Not that I wasn’t happy with the choices that had led me to this point in my life, but I knew that I was destined for greater things than a “Doc on a Boat”; another nameless enlisted member of the naval medical community serving three years of sea duty on a constantly revolving door of new check-ins and farewells. Working long hours on little sleep and crappy food is what boat life is all about. You are united as a crew by what is affectionately known as “The Suck”; a general catchall term that you can blame any and all problems on and one that you signed on for by receiving orders to a boat. Now there are three types of people that I encountered, those that love and are borderline addicted to the suck, those that tolerate the suck for the

It is true in life that everything happens for a reason. It is also true to say that sometimes it is all about being in the right place, at the right time. There was never a more prominent example of this than a traumatic summers evening, only a few years ago.

I believe I was not created equally. When I open my eyes to this strange world I feel an urge to run and hide. I am not safe there is no escape.

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 was an early afternoon in September and I was going through my usual study plan for the SAT. My mom walks into my room with a sheet of paper.

I was only thirteen when I first began to ask “who am i?” My parents would tell me stories of where I’m from, and how Sudan is like. My little brain couldn’t grasp the idea of having family, people that look like me, in the other side of the world. Going there was a dream for me, I had this vision in my head, this adventure I thought waiting for me, and so, I began to nag! “Can we go this summer daddy?” became one of my favorite things to say. I asked and asked, until I got what I wanted.

Introspection and ponderance devolved into a turbulence of chaos as the world around me was drowned out by a loud rhythmic beating, saturating the very essence of my reality. My body yearned for stimulus and motility as my restraint teetered on the cusp of failure. All sense of time was lost and what seemed like an aeon was a mere thirty-minutes. I emerged from the MRI room with a sense of confidence and optimism, but I would be dishonest to say that I was not consumed with the anxiety of anticipation.

Time passed as I remained in that kitchen chair. Until the doorbell broke me out of my continuous, horrific train of thoughts, that is.

I stood on the mound gripping the yellow softball, my heart was racing, my hands were sweating, and the soft breeze was blowing my ponytail side to side. I was facing my biggest rival from the neighboring school. My teammates were all cheering “you got this” but I knew in the back of my mind I was facing not only their best hitter but my biggest nemesis. She and I have had a long standing rivalry like the relationship of Harry Potter and Voldemort. There were 2 outs and the game was tied in extra innings. The first pitch I threw to her she swung and missed I was getting excited, the second pitch she swung at and missed everyone in our stands was yelling and cheering as well as my whole they were thinking we got this. I could feel my pulse pound

When I was 14 years old, my dad and I went rock climbing in the mountains with a friend and his son. It was the first time I had been rocking climbing anywhere outdoor. We had to hike in to the point where we could start climbing. We got to the top of the mountain and it was beautiful! On the hike down, my dad slipped in the snow and slid down the mountain. He hit a pile of rocks and broke his leg. I, being 14 and completely inexperienced, had to run down the mountain as fast as I could, while connected to a rope, to get to my dad and assess the situation. He dad had to spend the night on the mountain with our friend, while me and our friend's son were taken home by complete strangers at 3 in the morning. THe next day, I went into shock. I

Bicycle tires lifted dirt from the narrow path, filling the Scandinavian landscape with dust. As I swallowed the thick air, fragments of the earth entered my windpipe. I forced a dramatic cough, as though I was a movie extra overdoing my role as Choking Girl. It was the summer of 2007 and at the ripe age of ten years, my toothy grin and chicken legs were lugged across Denmark on a bicycle trip by my bickering immediate family, sheltered cousins, and nonconformist aunt. After yet another lengthy day of riding, a portrait of my rear was indented into the leather covering of my seat, and vice versa. After crossing paths with enough countryside sheep to make Polyphemus envious, the time had finally come to find our campsite. Instead, we found

Mikey took another bow, glowing with pride. The club was only a small venue but his gig had gone well, incredibly well. He’d done two extra songs. Even though they were under-rehearsed the crowd had loved them, forgiving his stumbled words and the odd missed note.

I scrambled across the floor, my knees grazed and bruised purple. Catching my breath, my head spun and I quietly reminded myself that I must keep breathing. In and out. Steady. I silently recalled all the places I've hidden, crossing them off the list. He'll look at those places first and I couldn’t afford to be caught this time. I told myself that everything was on the line, I had to flee - hide.

Tonight the wind felt unusual. It wasn’t as cold as it had been the day before, nor was it as warm as the summer months that passed by. Tonight it felt cool and smooth. It caressed my bare skin, exposed by the loose t-shirt I wore. Tonight the wind did not howl and shriek like it should’ve. It was a low, rumbling sound, easing my nerves. Tonight, the wind was just right.