Personal Narrative: My Essay For College

I was ten, the most terrifying event I had been through was riding the little dragon roller coaster at the fair, but that night changed it all. The fear that started in my head spread like wildfire to the rest of my body from the tips of my fingers to the bottoms of my toes. My heart was racing so fast that it could have beat Usain Bolt in a 100m dash. Stop, drop and roll, three steps that should have come naturally, but instead I froze, looked down at my yellow and black checkered flannel in complete terror, fearing for my life.

I had always assumed that my legs were strong and that I had decent muscle control, however, this thought was proven wrong at the beginning of my junior year in high school due to a detrimental injury. It was the first game of fall league for basketball, and within the first five minutes I had succumbed to an injury. Tearing my ACL and Meniscus has taught me to continue improving on my strength, not let this one injury keep me down, and to keep a positive mindset.

When I first started thinking about college schools I never thought about going to MSU or Ole Miss. I wanted to go to the bigger universities, but I knew I wouldn’t do well if I went there my first year. My high school did not prepare me enough for University, and I hadn’t decided on a major either. I choose East Central Community College (ECCC) as the school I would go to for many reasons, and when I got here I knew I made the right choice.

My mom called me crying about a week ago, after she dropped me off at the University of Akron and helped me move in my things. In an attempt to console her I repeated that I wasn’t very far from my hometown, Brecksville, and it wouldn’t be difficult to see me. Between sobs, she asked me what I’ve learned from her; if I felt she had taught me everything she should’ve. I’ve never been so sure of an answer in my life. My mom has inspired me more than anyone and has taught me to be hardworking, independent, accepting of others and myself, and to never sell myself short. It has been my dream since fourth grade to be lawyer, so while it is difficult to be away from people at home who I love, I know that I am in the right place and doing the right

There I was, poised with the first draft of my masters thesis, ready to jack it under the rear wheels of my car so that I could vent my anger and frustration. Never had I felt this kind of undiluted rage in dealing with a piece of writing. As far as I was concerned, the first draft was complete and therefore the entire piece was finished; however, my thesis advisor didn’t quite agree with me. A less deranged friend of mine talked me out of repeatedly backing over my thesis, and convinced me that it didn’t really matter if I did leave tire marks on it because I had multiple drafts on my disk. But still, I knew that it would just feel so good to leave some tire tread on the paper.

In a few short weeks I will be coming up to my third official year as a clinically practicing bedside registered nurse. I am feeling a mixture of emotions: Pride, restlessness, uncertainty, elation, determination, humble, and many other feelings I cannot yet describe since there is no name for them. Nursing is all I ever wanted to do. I can’t quite remember how I caught the bug but I do remember making the decision to pursue this career and never looking back.

In 1951 my grandfather first stepped foot on American soil thanks to a workers permit. As you expect before entering my grandpa was given a thorough body check where he would undress and would be checked for any diseases if found any would be sent back.

It was a hot sweltering day after soccer practice of my sophomore year of high school. I just pulled into the driveway after coming home from soccer, in my ’99 Honda accord. After entering my house I ripped off my soccer gear and headed for the shower. The three hour long practice in 90 degree weather sapped me of any available energy. In no hurry, I spent half an hour in the shower almost falling asleep as the hot water beat off my back. Before exiting the shower I heard this growl, which sounded like it was from an animal. While drying off, the sound occurred again and I finally realized my stomach was the animal making the noise. After finishing up in the bathroom, I decided it was time to tame the monster in my stomach that would eventually

Drenched in sweat, legs tired, heart pounding, and the finish line in sight. I needed to cross it, even if I end up crawling to accomplish my goal. My scheduled event that day was only for the 100-meter dash, but my coach picked me to also run the 400-meter race. I couldn’t let my team down. The last leg of the race was rough. Fortunately I successfully made it through. My drive to succeed gave me strength to do so. This drive and determination has stayed with me all my life.

The rapid beating of my heart that aches to break from the confines of my chest- the very housing that traps it. The cold sweat that fills my skin leaving a chill that exacerbates my rapid thoughts. This is the story of my life: a life in which anxiety possessed a domineering feat upon my will. As a child my notoriously predisposition to worrying has always been prominent. As I have progressed through my life I have become more aware of this controlling element to my life and have consequently fought to oppress it. Nonetheless anxiety has been not my biggest weakness but my most peculiar strength. Anxiety has provided me with the path required to open my doors to discovery and change as I transform from a shy individual to a determined, unrelenting leader.

I am Matt Valerio, a 9th grader at The Hill School in Pottstown, PA. I am 14 years old and love to play hockey, lacrosse, and golf. I would like to be a freelance writer for you because I love to write and would enjoy writing for ABC Journal. I love to write in my free time. I intend to write about sports; I play Hockey, Lacrosse, and golf. However, I do not see many articles about lacrosse, so I would like to get the people of Townville, PA excited about lacrosse. I would mostly write about nonfiction due to the sports I like to write about. My strengths as a writer would probably include most of my vocabulary and the fact that I am passionate about my topics I write about. I would include my Room for Debate essay because it shows

I can feel the tension in my muscles as the crowd readies itself for the main event.I prepared myself for the final match through boxing,dodging swings,running laps, inhaling when I hold back a punch and exhaling when I release the force of my punch.Without a doubt Gabriel has trained just as hard as I have and I still cannot beat him,until now.I felt more confident than ever as I walked out into the waiting eyes of the audience.I have climbed over many obstacles to get to the grand finale and I plan on seeing this fight to the end.

With only one month left until the prestigious AP Calculus exam, I sat at my wooden desk, diligently memorizing and practicing endless problems in preparation; my dim lamp casting a small portion of light across my notebook. My body was at a constant struggle, my eyes were intermittently flickering from forcing myself awake, while my fuzzy slippers soothed my stress and allowed me to feel a bit more comfortable. I knew I had to receive a high score on this exam, as if it was a life or death situation. I was determined, motivated and dedicated to succeed no matter the circumstances. In short, I was ambitious.

“Hey boys! Let’s go pick up trash around the park!” During dog walks around our local park, my family and I had noticed an accumulating amount of trash scattered around the park, making it look like “No Man’s Land”. Cigarette butts littered the ground like bullet cartridges and broken bottles were strategically arranged like barbed wire. My dad thought we had a responsibility to help our neighborhood, so he drafted my brother and me to pick up trash, yet the responses he heard were not from patriotic soldiers but from ungrateful eighth graders:

After the initial stumbling block more commonly known as residential life, I faced the towering challenge of settling into classes. Once I had registered (which was itself something of a dilemma), I had in my hand a sheet of abbreviations that rivaled a military briefing or a computer manual. My first class, on a Thursday morning, was located in a building called CBW, which stood for Classroom Building West. Surely the