Personal Narrative: My Essay For College

In the summer of 2013 I moved in my dad’s house for the summer to learn how to cook. Moving from Cherokee, AL to Florence, AL was a stressful move. My Mother and I agreed it was best I learn from someone that has being in the field for over 15 years. The game plan was to go work with my dad a Dale’s Steakhouse with my dad all summer. I made sure I grab my notebook and plenty of pencils so I can ask him questions.

in 2014 I had done a lot of fundraising in the past year such as selling about 50 spam musubis a day plus cookies and brownies and even selling bentos and doughnuts ands finally trail mix bars during school. even outside of school I did fundraising from car washes to even mowing yards. eventually I made enough money with the help of all my family to get to go on the trip. I even made more money so I could relinquish it so I can buy gifts and such things like food. I'm not infallible at Japanese because it so happens that I cant read any of the signs that are in japan. when we landed in japan it was amazing because the airport was so huge and had paintings that look so amazing. when we got our luggage, it was pouring rain when we went outside to the bus. it was about an hour and a

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.

It hurts. My bright red bruises under the light were buzzing from the pain. The yelling and arguing were muffled by my loud sobs. Why did this have to happen to me? I was just a kid, I didn’t do anything! Stomp stomp stomp. I heard footsteps coming up the stairs. He found me and yelled into my ears even more. I was called ugly, fat, disgusting, useless, girly, weak. The words ringed in my ears as I asked myself once again, why? I was like a slave, I couldn’t defend myself, I had to survive the beatings. I succumbed to the insults and descended into chaos.

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.

I slowly cut the heart out of the folded paper and held it up to the light. The edges were jagged and uneven; I tossed it in my growing pile of scrap paper. My hands were stained with marker and my hair was covered in glitter. It was bedtime and I was not even halfway done with the valentines for my third-grade class. I wanted my cards to look great- better than store-bought. I was so frustrated that tears welled in my eyes. The next morning, defeated, I went to CVS with my mom to buy cards. Everyone liked the Kit-Kat bars taped to the backs.

I grew up in a family that grew up in Agoura Hills, my mom, two uncles, aunt, and brother all went to Agoura High School and my grandpa is really involved in the community with the high school football team, AYSO, and pony league baseball. My brother is two grades above me and I had all of his teachers throughout elementary and middle school, even now i have some of his old art teachers. I was constantly referred to as his little sister and i really struggled with identity issues because of that. As much as I love art I couldn't really enjoy it because I felt pressured into it and I knew i would never be as good as my brother, as one of his ceramics teachers put it, “he is one of the top 1% of artists to come through this school.” I was so tired of always just being someone's daughter or niece or granddaughter and sister. I wanted to establish a place for me and be myself and sports medicine ended up being the answer to that.

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.

I believe that when people come together, it’s a beautiful thing. And when someone who can’t do something tries to do it and everyone else helps, that is a great moment.

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.

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.

Once there was a single guy and a single girl; in the same class, and hoping to date the other. In foods class, more specifically, of my sophomore year (PrepPh). I talked to many people of my foods class, but never really connected with any of them in particular. Then the seating order changed, and I finally sat with a girl that seemed interesting. I am going to call her Ashley as to not give away her true identity. Ashley, who was a bright and talented girl, was a girl I suddenly had a crush on (ADJ). Ashley and I hit it off quickly and became fast friends in our foods class. At first I thought of her as a talkative and smart individual, which is all I need to be able to have a crush on her. We talked and enjoyed each other’s company in foods

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