Personal Narrative: Low Magical Voice

I rush into my home and run up the stairs to my room. I jump on my bed and roll over to my laptop and open it quickly. I log onto the One Direction site and see that I made it in time to see the bid. I scroll and try and find my name and I see I'm in third place for the tickets and the time is running out. I've already bid $7000 for three tickets and backstage passes. The reason it's so expensive is because these passes are the last set of passes for their concert. 5sos is also playing so we would be meeting two bands and hearing both of them play.

In 2025, I will be twenty-nine years old and hopefully married. I will be married to my significant other of ten years Earnest Palmer III, who is a dentist. I would have been recently graduating with a bachelor’s in Culinary Arts and trying to plan to open my own restaurant, BubbaD’s Eateries. Knowing my big headed husband of mine, I probably had a baby then and trying to have another baby. Hopefully, by then Earnest will get rid of the idea naming our son, King. We will be living in the suburbs near New York City but working in the city. Being a woman with great memory, I probably wrote a memoir about my crazy life and trying to sell it to a publisher. If none of the publishers wants to publish my memoir, I will probably sell it the Lifetime

I think that my family realized that I had crossed the threshold between childhoods when I began to form my own opinions. This first took hold when I took part in poverty stimulation at my local shelter. I was giving a character and a story behind the card I was given; the story made me become emotionally attached to this name I had been assigned and the family in which I came from. The experience made me question the prejudice of the society I was living in. How many times had I avoided eye contact with the people on the side of the road begging for money? I began a long journey of soul searching and questioning the beliefs my parents had raised me on. My thoughts were continually brought back to a book by C.S Lewis, it was called Out of the Silent Planet; a character named Weston believed that individual human lives don’t matter, they must be sacrificed to save mankind.

You know that moment when you’re trying to reach the toilet paper but can't quite, then fall and kill yourself on a pumpkin? Yeah I know that feeling… it’s not good. It all started one very normalish day at 1065 Fitzgerald Ave.

Last summer I wanted to work and earn a little cash and distract myself and not be home all summer. I didn't know where to apply so I applied everywhere I was even open to working in the fields my parents told me that the fields were the last place they ever wanted me to work. My mom and step dad Raul always told me that field work wasn't easy and that it was not for me but I didn't listen.

When I was young my Dad would always remind me of how important these years as a kid are. He would always say watch how you act as a kid, for it will set the stage for the rest of your life. So many people I know ruined their lives when they were kids. This small, yet so important statement runs through my mind everyday. I love how everyone says they don’t care what people think of them, but I wish they knew how important it is to have a good image. I am not perfect, but I would like to be close as possible. But as Salvador Dali said “Have no fear of perfection, you’ll never reach it. “ The problem I see is everyone wanting to be someone that they are not. Sure, we all have our idols that we look

There once was a story told of a girl who was so call it the “Perfect Debater.” She was fierce, confident, knowledgeable, and she understood how to get people to listen. But in life, no one is actually that perfect. Her only downfall was that she was ruthless and she defended her territory at all cost, her opponent never got to mumble a single word. As I learned in the leadership program, we call this person “The Competing One.” These are the individuals who only pursue their own concerns at their opponent expense, using whatever power seemed appropriate. Well then there’s me, I fall in with the competing ones, the one who is said to be self-absorbed and sometimes ruthless.

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

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.

The ringing of the phone brought Richard back to the present. Answering he heard Rachel and recognized her tone as important. Come to the house Daddy, Melanie is ready to meet you.”

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.

After reading your response I realized I was not completely clear on my point of view. I have noticed this before and am working on trying to be clearer when writing. I also am trying to find a balance when giving details with my explanations. It is a find balance that I am still learning, in the past I have gone off topic because of my detail or long explanations. This is something that I am constantly working on and is not easy. However, when I receive feedback like this one it helps me find the part of my journal that I need to fine tune. I appreciate the time you took to read and give a meaningful response and not just tell me you agree. Yes, I do like people agree with me because I am only human. But when I receive a response like your,

1) During the second week of clinical, a patient of mine was extremely anxious in regard to the life style changes that needed to be made once he was discharged from the hospital. He was also uneasy about the cardiac catheterization scheduled for that day, to which I provided support and resources that morning to help with his worries. His nervousness was first noticeable during the head to toe assessment where the patient asked numerous questions about life after being discharged. I first interpreted my patient’s questions and concerns as normal, until later that day when he asked the same questions to which I answered. I responded to these signs of anxiety by sitting down with my patient and having another discussion about his concerns. During our discussion, I explained how only slight modifications needed to be made since he already lived an active lifestyle. Upon reflection, I wondered if therapeutic touch could have helped lower the anxiety my patient was experiencing.

The biggest challenge I faced coming into this class was stepping out of my comfort zone and gaining confidence in my writing. During this semester at Indiana State University, I have discovered many various writing skills while attending English 105. I have learned several writing techniques, different forms of MLA formatting, and how to research and properly use and cite multiple diverse sources in a research paper. By performing assigned tasks and completing practical class exercises, I was able to practice those skills and put them to use.

I grew up in a semi safe environment that was filled with a variety of benevolent people, a vast majority of those people happened to be my family and family friends. The neighborhood was a little tough, there were gunfights in front of my home on three separate occasions and some home invasions but not too much. Thanks to my parents, I didn’t grow up around the rugged kids that Denver Harbor normally produced, so I grow up different from all of the other kids. My parents spoiled me as a child, but thankfully I wasn’t spoiled rotten. My mother and father were and still are fantastic parents, they’re the reason I’m where I’m now. I feel like I eventually grew up right, however I wasn’t always on the right path. There was a long time where I wasn’t stable, I often wish I could rewrite that section of my life, but it’s a part of my