Personal Narrative-More Than You Seem

It was a normal chilly sunday on September 13th, 2015. My dad was in the garage with some of his friends watching the football game. It was the Dallas Cowboys vs. the New York Giants. My dad and his friends were making hot dogs and burgers on the grill but I don’t like those so I asked my dad if I could go to the store and get the ingredients to make taco dip. He handed me $20 and I headed off to the store with one of my dad’s friend’s son. The store was at the end of my street so it wasn’t a far walk.

Hi iam Edgardo Flores i was born in casa grande, az not that far away from our state capital,Phoenix, Az.theres nothing better to do in a hot summer than going out with the friends to a lake and have a blast riding jet skis boats and my favorite, swimming!My activites of the day are shooting,riding horses,and my favorite one is quad riding.Thats right! ive been doing these fun exciting hobbies since i was 9 years old.pretty young huh?

Walking into the coffee shop where everyone else , including me now, confronts people in their lives and continues to discuss important topics. The decorations around me are plain and simplistic, nothing special about this place whatsoever. I wait patiently for my invite to show, mentally preparing myself for the conversation that I want to have so desperately. I think of the topics I want to bring up and the ones I want to focus on more than others. Nervously, I continue to wait and talk myself out of thinking that they wouldn’t show at all. A few minutes filled with deep breaths later, finally they’re here. I walk over to the table we agreed to meet at, and sat politely before greeting them and waiting for a response. I cleared my throat and looked at my lap, trying to refrain from saying anything I’d regret. Taking a deep breath, I tried to remain professional while addressing the topic. Finally, my attention was brought to the person seated in front of me, to the world in front of me. With all the courage I could muster I stared dead into its

I do not believe in much aside from a few simple morals such as knowing right from wrong. There are no moments in my childhood worth mentioning and those that are I prefer to keep to myself. However what I can and choose to share are common experiences faced by many and that I too have experienced such as bullying, the divorce of two parents, having to constantly move from place to place, and always starting school as the new kid. Yet through all of it such experiences had no effect on shaping who I am today aside from a newly found sense of independence. Growing up I never cared nor did I worry about what I believed in because it didn’t matter at least not until somewhat recently.

I wish I could tell you all of this in person but I know if I try I’ll probably get very nervous and forget some small details that I would really like to tell you, and those are probably the most important to me. I saw you for the first time on February 23 at the valentines party, and that was such a fortunate thing to go to because I was able to get free food, have a good time, see old friends I haven’t seen since last semester, but most importantly I was able to see you. I didn’t know who you were at the time, but I knew you were like a very sweet, funny, caring, smart, and very beautiful just from your appearance. I first noticed you when you sat across from me when we were playing charades, and that’s when I knew that I wanted to get to

Hawthorne used elements of Romanticism throughout the novel to illustrate many themes. He used the elements of guilt, society, and supernatural to show the themes of sin, society gives meaning to signs, and guilt. Import parts of the book are Dimmesdale's remorse, the puritan town and the scarlet letter. The author was trying to show what remorse can do to a person's mind and body.

" You've been spying on Alison?!?!" Spencer called out to me. I turned around and saw Spencer with an angry expression on her peachy cream complexion.

I was on my way home from work the other day when I passed someone walking on the highway. It was raining and dark, so I turned around to see if he needed a ride. The stranger at first said no, but I kept on persisting and eventually he hopped in.

In our world, most societies support governments that work in a righteous way, but how can acting righteously be effective in a chaotic world full of crime and war? In the novel “ The Prince” by Niccolo Machiavelli, who defines a dystopian society as an illusion of a perfect government which is maintained through corporate, bureaucratic, and totalitarian control. This illusion, however, fades once one recognizes how these actions beneficially impact a society by uniting and protecting the people and country. Throughout the novel, Machiavelli preaches about various political principles and new ways to acquire and maintain political power. Niccolo also suggests many strategies and new classifications that a good prince should follow in order to maintain a successful reign. The ideal prince must be a fierce individual who must be capable of executing harsh, yet fair decisions among the people in order to ensure effective rule. Those who follow the guidance of Niccolo in the novel are not evil because in order to be a good and powerful leader one is required to show strong leadership, maintain domination for the benefit of citizens, and at times be feared rather than be loved.

As a tall five feet eight inch girl with thick, brown, curly hair as a mane, glimmering blue eyes, and a somewhat tan complexion, I constantly have people questioning my race. I have been profiled as many different ethnicities. Instead of getting "hey what's your name?" or "how has your day been?", I get "what are you mixed with?" Is respect a thing anymore?

I've never had to write a personal narrative before. Nor do I like to. Personally, I've always just tried to forget a lot that goes on around me. I hate diary entries and journaling. The closest I've come to any of it is writing poems. They were never any good though. Mostly talking about teenage angst or what I think the color green would taste like. But some of them were like stories. Stories about my friends, and about dreams.

As the doors opened I saw the white ceramic floor, the red and grey lockers, and the alphabetically arranged hallways. I was in an American High school. At this moment a jolt of energy gushed through me and made me feel on top of the world, however as the day progressed, my head started to observe the ceramic floor more than the diverse group of people in this school. I felt like I was an “inbetweener” and I am not even bi-racial. This feeling of being an outcast made me homesick. A few months into the school year my English Two teacher gave me a book called “The Gifted Hands.” It was after reading this book, about Ben Carson, I realized I am not the only kid in high school that is feeling out of place. I learned that although our experiences might differ, we were all students trying to skip these few years and become a senior.

A rainy Saturday filled with a bit of cleaning, a lot of work and a constant rain, the hubs and I found ourselves with a hankering for burgers. Of course downtown has options, but we also wanted to get home just in case the downpour decided to continue. One never knows in Michigan after all.

I love living in a small town, it gives me a sense of guaranteed safety and simplicity.

Sometimes it would be a simple greeting, but I tried to initiate small talk when there was more time. I spoke with some people on the elevators, at my sponsor’s tailgate, and when walking to classes or on the yard. Sometimes, I would initiate the conversation, but most of the time it was the other person. Through these interactions, I realized that I tend to overthink a lot my actions - although I hate to admit it, I’m a bit self-conscious and give a lot of thought into how others perceive me. It was challenging at some points to go out of my comfort zone to initiate conversations; I felt anxious (especially when talking with officers or adults), and I often fidgeted when there was a period of silence within the exchange. However, it was much more comfortable when the other person initiated the conversation. It was like they were welcoming me and playing the “host”, instead of the other way