Personal Narrative: Maravilla

I have lived in only one location my entire life: Edwardsville, Illinois. A peripheral suburb of St. Louis, it stands as the rare oasis of people in a desert of corn, pinned in its own personal bubble. Due to this blend of time and isolation, I developed a natural familiarity with my hometown. But, throughout my childhood, I longed to break free from the confines of the bubble and venture outward. However, this changed last summer, as I walked through Richards Brickyard, our family heirloom, that my great-grandfather, Benjamin Richards, founded over 120 years ago. I felt these childlike sentiments slip away. The bubble that had surrounded me for so long began to vanish, and the picture that it had been obscuring was slowly revealed.

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.

Weslaco is the place where I grew up, I was raised here, I have friends here everything for me is here in Weslaco.

Recognize Nieves? No? Okay, how about Zacatecas? Still not ringing a bell? Okay, okay, Mexico? Yeah, I knew you’d know that one. Nieves, Zacatecas is within the Mexico borders. A humble place where I was born. Several circumstances started evolving where I was raised. And just like any other parents, mine got concerned which later resulted of us relocating to a safer environment. A place where death would visit frequently wasn’t a good place for a 1 year old kid. A town where the word trust was unknown. Leading to my parents decision of following the american dream.

The term Quinceañera is the ceremony that celebrates the coming of age of a girl in Latin American countries, and as a girl growing up seeing my mother’s pictures it was the only thing you could dream of. Some parents spend their whole lives saving the ceremony, instead of saving for a college fund. That is how important this ceremony is. You save up for: the locale, the dress, the shoes, the food, the gifts, the courts tuxes and dresses, the jewelry, the makeup, hair, and nails.

If a lifetime in theatre has taught me anything, it’s that an actor never stops learning. Relying on natural talent is a fantasy. At eighteen, I’ve done over 25 musicals and plays, but the first time I participated in a show that wasn't at a school or summer camp I had been going to for years, I was blown away at how little I actually knew about what it takes to be a professional performer-- but it finally felt like art. It needed skill and practice beyond repetition and praise. I pushed myself to be my best and honestly craved criticism because nothing felt better than improvement. Competing with others who have had little to no training did not allow me to grow into the actor I want to be: someone genuine, who tells stories and creates, who

Hi Maralice, I am sorry to have to connect with you for my personal reasons. For the last 11.5 months I have been asking everyone that I have as a connection to please have my check delivered to me before 2:30 pm simply because I am typically here at 5 am and on Fridays it takes me hours to get home if I do not beat the initial heavy traffic wave. I am disappointed that I have to ask over and over and it seems to fall on deaf ears! Please see what you can do to help me today and going forward. I am unsure whether to sit and wait or leave but it is not the best scenario for me even today.

After a long walk down we finally reached the place where the Amontillado lied in wait. The tiresome journey would all be worth it for a taste of such a rare find—during carnival of all times! My dear friend directed me deeper into the crypt which was difficult to see in with the dim light that emanated from the torch he gave me. He mentioned the name of that fool Luchresi again, Ha! He does not deserve a taste of this rarity- he cannot tell Amontillado from Sherry. I continued to walk forward until I felt my fingertips brush against the damp, cold wall. Confused, I seem to have reached the end of the room. Since I was a bit disoriented from my earlier drinking I assumed I might have walked right passed the Amontillado. Suddenly, I felt

Francisco Franco man I just do not know what to say about that guy. We went to boot camp together; then we were told we were both going on the USS Nimitz to fight the naval battle against the Iraqians. There is just something weird about that guy that I just do not like at all. He has this weird look about him all the time as if a shark was trying to catch his prey. Personally I think he is up to something big. I have tried to convince multiple other people that the guy is bad, but it is like trying to trying to stick a piece of wood through a rhinoceros’s skin; it does not work.

I sat in the front seat as the officer drove down broadway to Santa Maria high school

I was born in Matamoros,Tamaulipas, Mexico. It is a little town located across the border from Brownsville, Texas. I lived there for more than 15 years. Mexico is full of history; it has a rich culture and thousands of unique traditions. I believe that we, Mexicans, are very polite, humble, and warm people.We love celebrations and celebrate almost everything.

“Oh, I forgotten my apron back at the house,” I have told my sister. “I have to go back and retrieve it, Montressor is not going to be home until the morning so I have more than enough time.” I grabbed my coat and went out the door in order to obtain my apron that was a family heirloom passed down generations and generations of servants. I walked through the pitch black darkness, only using the light of the moon to illuminate the pebbled road that laid ahead of me.

She carries symbolic bracelets and tangled up headphones and torn playbills. She carries crumpled sheet music, a highlighted play script, a rusty gun and holster, an old calculator, worn out journals for writing fragmented lyrics, passionate feelings, unforgotten memories, and so much more. Twice or three times a week she carries packets of law and a lunch that was packed that morning. She carries a water bottle that is always half empty, or much like herself, half full, depending on how you see it. Wyatt carries the priceless shark tooth necklace she gave him, locked away somewhere unknown. Hannah carries the cheap but meaningful books that she gave her, unread but still valued. Her mother carries the candy she gave her, hard but sweet, a reflection of her soul. Something they all carried in common, was that they all carried something that was given; taking turns, they carried pieces of her shattered heart.

When I was younger, my uncles to joke about the fact that I was americanized; that I didn’t know how life really was back in the motherland. I would just laugh and tell them to leave me alone. Then, I saw what they meant when we went to Africa in 2009.

I was on the top of the neighbor's hill with my girlfriend, I started to hear waves come in faster than normal. I knew I had to get Felicia out of the way of the incoming wave, so I revved my bike, and grabbed Felicia by the arm. I put it in first gear and flew down the hill doing a wheelie. We drove down to the bumpy road by the beach and saw that it was going to be worse than we thought it would be. I took off and I saw the lifeguard in his big Red buggy shouting to get everybody off the Shelly beach. I took off towards the beach, I saw a grandma struggling to get away from the waves. We kept driving down the beach in front of the noisy sand buggy. I told Felicia to hold on tight, we revved the Engine and shot sand out behind me. I got up to speed and held the throttle wide open. Up we went I went sailing through the air Felicia said, “WHAT DID I JUST HIT” Felicia and I came down with a big bang.