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Personal Narrative: My English Reading

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The afternoon had just set and aureate rays of lights were peeking onto my plaid printed arm chair through the countless stained glass windows that consumed the room of my new house. I had finally decided to let my legs ease on the ottoman just in front of me after a long day of classes that it seemed inevitable I would fail. My brain screamed of exhaustion, but my eyes caught hold of the Purple Hibiscus book falling lifelessly out of my backpack across the room. I figured now would be a better time than ever to begin my english reading, so naturally, I stood and hobbled over to the book, took it by my two hands, and in the same motion sat swiftly back down into the armchair. The sides of the chair squeezed me adequately and the excitement …show more content…

For a while I just sat there enjoying the relaxation and relief I felt, the comfort. However suddenly my eyes fell upon a sentence that made me nervous. I reread it countless times to be sure I had read it correctly and each time like a broken record I read it back the same. My heart sunk into the seams of my armchair and I could feel each lung quivering as my chest closed up slowly. Routinely, I reread once more, “I noticed the ceiling first, how low it was,” I peered up looking at my ceiling, it was not very high like my old house and to be frank, I had not even noticed or put ceiling height into consideration when moving here (Adichie 113). I continued reading, “it was so unlike home, where the high ceilings gave our rooms an airy stillness” (113). The word “home” rung in my ears. The thought of a home inundated my mind and clogged my throat with tightness. Where was home for …show more content…

This was my first move out of 14 and my mom, dad, and I all stayed with my aunt for a bit until we could find the perfect house, and eventually we did. So, for as long as I can remember, this perfect house was my home. At the end of my street was a small cul de sac where several neighbors my age lived. After school, laughter resonated through the air as all of us tight knit kids of Willowbrook Farm Road scootered up and down the street until the tiredness of our scrawny legs finally became too much to bare, and we made our way in for the night to eat mac and cheese and share the juiciest gossip first grade had to offer. I thought these days could last forever, that the darkness of the night was only just an excuse for the next brilliant day to begin, and so I would walk back to my perfect house and wake up the next morning negligently, still a careless child. From those days, I have tried to forget many things so far in my life. For example when my fish of 7 years died, or when my dad was first diagnosed with stage 4 cancer. Though he survived, the glorious lifestyle living in a perfect 2,135 square foot house soon came to an abrupt halt. Before my eyes, my mom, dad, and I downsized to a small beach house about 1/6th the size of our previous home, but nonetheless it was still in the same town so I remained able to maintain my friendships without too much change. Though I knew subconsciously the

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