Personal Narrative: Me For Me

The goal is that people will hear about these different stories that cost someone’s life and think twice before they pick up their phone. I promise that message on your phone is not as valuable as your

When it comes to what separates me from other teenagers, there would be quite a bit to tell. I would say a major difference which separates me from my peers is my love for barbershop harmony music. I do not have a quartet of my own; however, I love to sing barbershop tags with other friends at church. I set myself apart from the world because of my beliefs: as a New Testament christian, I believe the bible gives us all instruction concerning spiritual matters.

The blinding rays of Los Angeles sunlight jolted me from my comfy bed in my apartment outside of the UCLA campus. My eyes were still heavy with sleep and my usually coiled brown hair was in a fuzzy static mess. Out of the blue, my smart phone made an irritating buzzing sound on my bedside table. I turned my torso to the table and picked up my vibrating phone, while groaning and rubbing my eyes, to read who the caller was. “Dr. Flournoy…? Oh, it’s my therapist!” I mumbled to myself. I looked at the time on my phone. “Jeez, she’s calling at 5:00 in the morning? It must be really urgent.” I picked up the still ringing phone, curious about why she was calling me.

Disassociation with Reality: World through Text Messages July 13, 2014, 18-year-old Massachusetts resident Conrad Roy parked his black pick-up truck near a local supermarket and committed suicide by poisoning with carbon monoxide from a gasoline pump. The last few days his friends and parents tried to find him, but he kept in touch only with his girlfriend, 17-year-old Michel Carter. Michelle kept in touch with him and encouraged him to commit suicide. A couple had romantic relationships but saw each other only once. Their entire relationships developed in the process of communication through SMS.

Who am i? I am an individual who has achieved many goals despite a childhood and adolecense with much adversity. I grew up I Santa Clarita, California my child hood was realativley normal . My grandmother mary died, when I was 7 and my mother started drinking heavily . By the time I was 11 she was a raging alcoholic and was depressed most of the time. I was helpless, at the same time my father became a drug addict. As a result of her alcoholism my mother contacted cirrhosis and when I was 13 she passed away. I was devastated and too young to lose my mother.

What defines me is my drive to help people, and the adrenaline and mental high I get from doing it. I can accredit this to my Aunt Rhonda who was a Emergency Medical Technician (EMT) During my early childhood. I remember her letting me sit on her lap after she got back from a long weekend of volunteering, and me marveling over her stories of the shift. By the time I got to elementary school, I had started carrying extra band-aids in my backpack so as to save the life of a possible wounded classmate. When I got into middle school, I was familiar with the first responder standards of care and had my own basic medical bag. I spent my weekends reading “Grey's Anatomy” and watching endotracheal intubation demonstrations on youtube instead of doing my homework. But everything I

When I was in third grade my teacher assigned us to write a book titled “All About Me” and just about every word was spelled incorrectly. I remember my teacher reading it and asking what word I was trying to spell out and I got upset. I felt like I could not spell anything I was trying to write, put things into the right words, or into the correct order. However, in seventh grade my writing changed when my English teacher assigned us a paper to write about a book the class was assigned to read. My writing had improved, but still had its problems. My English teacher always told me that there is no such thing as a perfect paper. After he read my rough draft, he handed it back to me and there were red marks all over it, so I went home and fixed

This is the stage when you form your own individual identity and separate from the oppression based system of hierarchy. This is the stage I developed through the help of my mother. Even when I was bad she would install the power of knowledge in me. She always installed on me that I had to go to college. I went through this stage when I stopped associating with my high school friends. I notice that they had nothing going on with their lives and were dragging me down with bad influence. Once I decided to go to college I stopped all contact with them. Going to college changed my perception on life. I know that with the proper education I can be anybody I want to be and I can have an equal chance in society. I stopped feeling like I was oppressed

I stare at my phone with the blank look that I've been wearing since who knows how long. Emotions have been so mushed together lately that I have no idea what I'm feeling or thinking anymore. I've been on autopilot for so long that I can't even remember the most simple tasks. A sigh escaped my pale red lips as my brown eyes closed, and I thought today would be a good day! I laugh to myself, I haven't had a good day in months, well, let me change that, probably in years. I open my eyes back open as my tan fingers wrapped around my phone, pick it off the white kitchen counter, and lock it so I don't have to look at the stupid messages anymore.

Since being adopted, I have continued to try to find more about who I am and what I am supposed to do. Although I have been asked many times when I found out and how it makes me feel, it is still a taboo topic to talk about because of the little information I know. I was admitted to the orphanage after being found at the bottom of a staircase in the middle of a village square. After ten months of being admitted, I was adopted, but I almost did not make it because of a high fever and infection. As a baby, I did not want to hold any medicine that was given to me and because of this, a close family friend had to fly in some Western medicine so that I could have a chance at life. Since then it has been a challenge to find my place in this world

As the daughter of immigrants, I had grown up with a strong idea of what my culture was and how I identified myself. This identity had influenced my beliefs and the value I believed my parent’s culture held. My background had revolved around being raised by parents who had both spent a majority of their lives in Vietnam before moving to the States. This meant I was going to be influenced by the Confucian ideas which remained prominent in Eastern and South Eastern Asian culture as well as the Buddhist religion which my mother followed. All of these traits along with the environment I grew up in had affected how language had become a major pillar in my culture and identity, continuing to play a part in my relationships and actions today.

When I was young, I was naive, and also pretty arrogant, as was everyone I presume. But, on the other hand, I also had two sides to define me: the first was this quiet, curious, and almost peculiar being who was engaged and would absorb everything (quite literally too.) The other being this reckless, yet selfless child who cared about others well-being more than his own. For as long as I can remember, I've always been this way. Good or bad, that's me.

My identities are complicated and hard to explain so the best way I can do at this point is do kind of a free form of the two and then explain them the best way I possibly can. My first identity would be the blue collar professional one (Mr. Coverdale). he is well-spoken, poised, well-mannered, and knowledgeable. The second identity (Henry). He would be the short tempered, disrespectful, and just do not care about anyone or anything but himself and takes no bull from anyone. They get along more than they disagree with each other helping each other out in a way that things get done in the right way, but they do bump head from time to time. The situation in which that happens has to be the most challenging and conflicting. sometimes one is entirely

Who am I today? I see a man with potential. As I see myself right now I am pretty proud of myself and thankful. I am thankful for the opportunities that have been given to me such as being able to go to a very well known college prep school and I am thankful, and I know it sounds cheesy, for parents that love me and support me and give me a kick in the butt when they see me slacking a little bit.

I stared at the window, the not so perfect weather to start a Monday. Dark clouds devoured the sun and sky. The tree danced in the wind. “Maybe falling back to sleep helps me forgetting this joke,” I thought, but impossible. I opened my eyes and saw my white belly and my long unicorn legs. Hours past by, still no change. I stopped trying with a pain in my chest that I had never felt before. “Where’s my phone?” I thought, glancing around. Found my phone lying on its back and plugged in. I tried to grab it from my desk, but I made a horrible decision. My leg shoved the lamp and the homework on the ground as I unplugged my phone. I whined and tried