Personal Narrative: My Cages

Threads to Which I belong is a book that captivated my soul. As I read through the pages of history, I found myself traveling back in time. Invisible I stood in Mississippi watching a family’s history unfold. As I turned the pages, my emotions changed constantly. I experienced emotions of anger, disgust, sorrow, and happiness. The author has written an outstanding piece of work that forces you to consider researching your own family history.

This past year, I have been apart of Naperville Central’s brand new Special Spaces club. When my friend approached me and asked me to join, I agreed even though I had no clue what I was involving myself in. In retrospective, I can honestly say that becoming a part of Special Spaces has been one of the most meaningful, fun, and fulfilling experiences I have had in high school.

The Festival return to Greenfield, MA after being in Turner Fall, MA for a couple of years. I had never been in the Art Block, but found one of their stages The Wheelhouse one to be inmate setting like you what you might find in a coffeehouse. I heard Julia Cira sing on that stage and she had a beautiful voice. One that I like much better than Rosie Porter. It's just a good one to have for ballads. Its a strong one. She plays an electric guitar as well as sings. She was accommodate by a man on drum set and another young woman on an electric guitar. That woman played it well. I listen to her sing a couple of songs and she sang beautifully each time. According to her, They were doing full on rock songs and they sound like very nice quality

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.

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.

My whole life I’ve felt like an outsider. When I was younger dealing with a learning disability, I have had a hard time making and keeping friends even to this day. I struggle with being a follower instead of a leader. My own adoptive father verbally abused me growing up and I also had kids in fifth-sixth grade who constantly bullied me. I still am reminded of an instance when the first day of fifth grade approached: I got on the bus and these older girls started making fun of my pants saying, “She’s wearing high-waters.” I was humiliated in front of my peers every day since than during those two years. After being bullied for so long I made a vow to myself to never forget the pain inflicted upon me on a daily basis.

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.

Sorry in advance if this is be too much information for some. . . .

The buck is in my sights. I pull the trigger. It’s hunting season November 11, 2014. I’m hunting with my grandpa. He’s sleeping in the driver's seat of the truck. I’m in the passenger side of the truck. It’s around seven o’clock and I’m watching the woods to my right I turn and look around and all of a sudden a doe appears in the field in front of me and then I hear the buck. The buck grunts four or five times. I’m straining my eyes to see but I still can’t see the buck. The buck is just of the field in the brush to my left. I grab my gun I put my other hand on the door handle i’m ready to get out as soon as I see

When you first walk into the Hornets Nest the first thing you see is one of the friendly crew member there to swipe your hornet card. Then you smell the freshly stoned cooked pizza and nearby you can see some choices on pasta. I normally don’t the eat pizza. Honestly the pizza is not as good as it smells. I haven’t touch the pasta once because I avoid the pizza so I forget that there’s more than pizza.

Freedom: the power or right to act, speak, or think as one wants without hindrance or resistance, that is what we don’t have right now. Our lives have been hard,we are often tempted to give up and not press forward, but we are not quitters, all of us together are going to fight until we have moved on.My poor family will be Britain’s slaves if our American troops do not try. All of our colonies sleep together snuggled in a little cabin like hut , it is not the perfect little dreamhouse, all snuggled up together in a warm, comfortable bed, no, we did it the harder way.

I woke up as usual a couple of years ago on September 20, I rubbed my tired eyes with my hands curled into fists. Uncovering my head from the large blanket I had, I was blinded by the brilliant light that hung above my head. A few moments later, after my eyes had adjusted, and my temporary blindness left me, I stumbled out of my bed and tripped to my closet, still dazed from just having woken up. Once I was ready I dazedly walked down the stairs, hanging onto the wooden rail tightly so I wouldn’t fall, though I almost fell more than a few times. My grandmother was sitting in her grey rocking chair, watching The walking dead, she heard me trip off the last step coming down the stairs and turned her head slightly to face me. She started to say

On June 4, I died. Well, metaphorically speaking. Let me rephrase that— I was reborn.

In Cage 15, there was a bald eagle. Regal and upright, imperial and intimidating, it stood on a log, paying me no heed as I scribbled adjectives. A sign beside on the wooden cage beside the barred window called her Spirit and informed the reader why she had been committed to the asylum. She’d dislocated her left wing in 1989.

As a child, my environment changed a few times. I was born in the United States but my parents were hispanic so I lived in Mexico up until I was around six. It was a cozy atmosphere back then since violence wasn’t a prominent thing ten years ago. As soon as my sister was on her way however, my parents decided to move us officially to America. It was not bad at all in Mexico and it definitely shows in pictures and videos that I was a very happy child even if I don’t fully remember most of it. Once in the United States, however, a lot changed. I’ve always been a positive person by nature 98% of the time, so moving at first wasn’t something bad. I was very happy with where we lived and how our house looked, but the actual going to school and making