Personal Narrative: Mind Over Body

Walking away from everything you once knew and starting over is never a picnic. Leaving Iraq, and moving to America has impacted my life more than anything. I was only 4 years old at that time, and the only English I spoke was “excuse me, water please.” My family and I did not know it then, but our lives were going to change; we would become “Americanized”. Learning English was one of the massive changes that occurred, the way I dressed (culture), and even the way I had power to go to school and educate myself.

Over my years of school, one big influence on me has always been sports. Ever since a young age, I have always enjoyed playing and watching sports. In my four years in high school, I have fell in love with the sport of lacrosse.

I woke up and took one bite out of my pop tart but that one bite was all I could eat. My legs were shaking, and my heart was pounding. My dad told me, “It is a true honor to even make it this far so go out there and have some fun.” Once I heard this statement, I knew I was ready to go. I arrived at school and boarded the bus. The car ride was an hour and fifteen minutes of hearing the squeaking of the wheel on the bus. My teammates were getting their heads ready for the big game.

I quickly swallowed my homemade authentic Indian food leftovers and gulped down my chocolate milk. Looking down at my watch that read 11:28am, I knew that I only had two minutes until my most favorite part of the day: recess. This particular day in 5th grade, I had run a lap around the playground before getting the rest of recess to myself. As I started walking for my warmup, another student ran up and said, “My parents said that your people caused 9/11.” Completely caught off guard, I held back the tears in my eyes and tried to shake off his comment. I had never encountered something like this.

The stone was cold and I could feel the pain swelling up inside. I took a step towards the edge, I thought to myself, “One more step and the worries would end…” if only it was that easy.

Growing up with a father in the military, you move around a lot more than you would like to. I was born just east of St. Louis in a city called Shiloh in Illinois. When I was two years old my dad got the assignment to move to Hawaii. We spent seven great years in Hawaii, we had one of the greatest churches I have ever been to name New Hope. New Hope was a lot like Olivet's atmosphere, the people were always friendly and there always something to keep someone busy. I used to dance at church, I did hip-hop and interpretive dance, but you could never tell that from the way I look now.

There are many avocations that I would chose from. But, more specifically, I would aspire to be a unique, “at home style” photographer. Being able to capture simple moments in a strange place like Elsewhere seems so interesting to do. Each day I would grab my camera, go outside, stroll around and observe nature. I would be able to go outside and capture moments of people, the warm sky, or anything that I would want to. The thing is, there are no limits to photography

Where does inspiration come from. The heart maybe. The brain. The soul. Your peers. Maybe even no one. You could have all the acquaintances in the world and I don’t care what anyone says because if they don’t care about you you’ll still end up feeling lonely as hell. I do. I have many acquaintances. But when they don’t care to check up on you to say, “Are you doing okay?” or, “Did you make it home okay?” maybe, “How’d your day go?”, or even, “I know you’ve been going through a lot lately, I just wanted to let you know I’m here for you.”

Tim sat on my bed with just his boxers on later that night. His chest looked delicate, pale and his collarbone thicker than usual. “You're not doing this vegetarian thing for me, right?”

Waking up in the morning going to school was a normal everyday thing, just a normal day of life for a 7th grader. I finally arrived home; it was confusing seeing my dad’s car home. It was silent you could hear a pen hit the floor. I go up stairs to see my dad past out on the floor. I froze, and I run towards my dad hoping he was sleeping. When I’m sitting in front of him his breathing was shallow. I try to wake him up, but at first he does not move and then I see his eyes open. I scramble, and try to find my phone to call the police. The lady on the phone ask many so questions in such a short period I could think of the words to answer. After I hang up there is another long silence. Then I hear a siren getting louder and louder as it pulls

It’s breathtaking up here! The sights are astonishing, from the elegant white doves soaring over the angels heads, to the glimmering leaves from the sun on the tall vigorous trees. This place really did seem to be what everyone thought it was. It was the perfect place where it seemed nothing but peace and happiness could take place.

I neck almost snaps based on how quickly I turn my head, “What the hell did you just say to me?!”

At the last second, I jumped. My body hit the hood of the car and I screamed. My bones, muscles, joints, and organs felt like they were being crumbled and smashed into a tiny box. My lungs contracted with such force that I was afraid they would fold into themselves. My torso and head smashed up against the windshield while my arms and legs were flailing, searching for somewhere to hold and stop the forward movement my body was going. The world must have kept flickering its light switch because my vision kept flashing from bitter darkness to a blinding white light. The only sound that filled my ears was the crushing of glass mixed with the distinct crackles of my bones. Then suddenly, everything became light. I was flying through the air, my

My brain wasn’t properly communicating with my body. I was trapped. My eyes slowly opened as my lungs took a deep breath in, then out. After a while, I started to regain control. When I could finally comprehend what was happening, I was left with a million questions. After getting up from the bed, I started to look around. Everything was in ruins. My once perfectly pristine hospital room was torn apart. I trudged through the rubble, piecing together the few scraps that were left. I shuffled across the hall and peeled away the covers to find a perfectly scarred corpse. After trying to get that image out of my mind, I continued on my journey through the desolate hallways, constantly tripping over a trail of empty medicine bottles and an assortment of scattered pills. I deliberately searched for any clues that would lead me to any kind of answer. It wasn’t long before I stumbled across an array of papers spread out across the nurses station. I couldn’t comprehend a majority of what the papers said, the letters looked as if they were carelessly sprinkled across the page. I combed through the papers, hopelessly looking for anything that would ring a bell. In between multiple death reports and medical records, I noticed an image of a scar that seemed recognizable. I pondered for hours, racking my brain for any information that would

The sounds of sixteen children screaming and laughing. Paper money flying, the teacher making no effort to stop the commotion. Everyone smiling having a great time. Many teachers go by curriculum, but only a few take the curriculum to new places. Although some teachers have strict rules, my third grade teacher, Mrs. Rifenbark, was fun and creative, and she taught be many things that I would use for school years to come.