Personal Narrative: My Life Changing Experiences

Okay, hi I guess. My name is Nicole, the school's "Queen Bee". Or *insert b word* I really hate my past, not my present... I changed. Anyway, it's time to tell you my story. The story of my life. The story I was lost in. Its not my fault, Because its loves fault. The story that ruined my life. The story which found my love. The story that ended with a smile, a full heart. A loving man. So listen up, because here I

Until I walked onto the stage to take a bow, I didn’t realize that I just danced, acted and sang a solo. It took me a long time to get to that fifth grade Christmas play where I wasn’t shy anymore. Due to the fact that I wasn’t Darth Vader anymore, so I didn’t need a mask strapped onto my face to breathe at night. Asthma, respirators and surgeries were what my childhood consisted of and I would have time to, at most, socialize with my family. Years after my final surgery, my currently bubbly-self erupted from within and many of my friends never knew how I was before.

Our class is always in chaos in the mornings. The boys compare what they have for breakfast today and discuss last night’s baseball game play by play, while the girls get together and share a bit of gossip they heard last night and begin to make plans for the weekend. Today was no exception. Just as the tardy bell rings, I sit in my seat at the corner of the room and notice that Kaylin, who sits behind me, is crying. Her face is red and blotchy and she is staring at her phone. I choose to act like I do not notice, because it must have been a rough morning and I would not want anyone bothering me if I were in her position. Then Abbie, who sits in the desk beside Kaylin, comes in a few minutes late, also crying. Lauren and I exchange confused glances, and I suddenly realize our teacher, Mrs. Hendrix, isn’t in the room. How strange, I think to myself, she is almost always here to greet us when we walk in the

All my teacher did was asked me, “Le entiendes (Do you understand)?” I would just nod “no” while millions of thought were exploding on my head. I didn’t understand why he was a teacher. Most likely he didn’t even know what to be a teacher meant. All I wanted to do was learned I didn’t want to be isolated and send to the blue carpet to read Clifford while the other kids where either playing games in the computer or doing their work. The inability to complete daily tasks that my classmates could complete often left me feeling as though I did not belong. I felt that I simply attended class to ruin their perfect picture, but when an opportunity arose I took advantage of

"Tasnim, can you please stay after class? I need to talk to you." I let go of the door handle and whip my head back to face my third grade teacher Mrs. Russell. She said my name correctly for the first time all year, though her voice was stern. I realize that my jaw has dropped by the expression on her face as she peers over her laptop. As I walk slowly towards her, my classmates whisper, "Ooh she's in trouble" as they sprint out the door for recess. I stand near my teacher's desk waiting for all the students to leave and when the room is silent, Mrs. Russell says,

It was a few weeks ago when I realized I was misjudged by not only by my classmates but one of my teachers. I had been missing classes for a few weeks now… coming late in the morning to my first block and leaving in the middle of day. Everyone thought I was just leaving. Thought I was slacking, Thought they knew what was going on. Their thoughts on me changed from me being a good student to me missing school and not caring and not doing on homework assignments. I would come to school later in the day I would be scolded from people I thought were my friends, my peers, my classmates. They interrogated me, asking how was your nap? How was Netflix? How was going out for lunch? Assuming I went home during the day and relaxed. If only they knew what I was going through. If only they knew how much pain I was in. If only they knew I was spending days stuck in a doctor’s office. Getting MRI’s done. Getting excessive amounts of blood drawn. Going through hard tests. If only they truly looked at me and realized my life is being turned around. I never shared with my teacher or classmates why I was

Williams, you gave her fits but she loved you. There were days when you wanted to stay and do what you were suppose to do. The days you didn't, you were sent out and had to go to your sister, Taryn, class. In that class you always would do what you were suppose to do. You always did the second grade work but wouldn't do your work. It was so weird at how you did things. When you moved into your first grade year, you had Mrs. Nail. You did good in her class but you was a talker. You loved to talk. Your 2nd grade year, was easy in work and etc. but it it was rather difficult. You got into a couple of fights. Your teacher was Ms. Fennell. She loved having you in her class. I remember the day I got a call from the principal, Mrs. Waterson. “Hello…” “Hi...yes is this Ms. Davis?” “Yes this is she.” “This is Mrs. Waterson at Barnard Elementary. I'm calling regarding to Jayden Davis-Booker, she has been in a fight.” What in the world I thought. “What happened this not like Jay!?” “She was playing by herself on the slides...no one else was by her and on the slides. Well, one girl came over there and got on the slide when Jayden came down. Ms. Fennell said she should have went over there when she saw Jayden stand there and stare at her because she didn't know what she was gonna do but she just stood there and watched. Well, when the little girl came down, Jayden went over there. Jayden took her by her wrist and started

So we packed are things into our backpack and proceed to go the library even though I was still mad about the fact that I got in trouble, but, spending the rest of the school day there makes a difference. After we arrived there she told us to pick out a book of our choosing and do a poster about the most favorite moment that we thought was the best. So we all went to pick out the book that we wanted and the story that I picked was called Goosebumps: Night of the living dummies by R.l Stein. To me this book had a lot of memorable moments so I choose the introduction of the dummy to be the poster. Everything went great until I decided to go find a new marker because the ink was starting to fade and went to go get it from the basket. I got there I started to find the marker I needed, I grabbed a pair of scissors to move them away from the marker I needed, when it happened. Someone's poster got stabbed and had a hole in it. That person started to blame me because I had scissors in my hand and the teacher came around and ask about what happen. As soon as she heard what happened, she was convinced that I did and gave me another week's worth of picking up trash. I got so angry I started to scream back at the teacher saying that none this was my fault and didn't do anything to the point that threw scissors at a computer monitor breaking it on impact.

Howard, at the beginning of my senior year. I was looking forward to that because I always want to know how I can fix any of the mistakes I make. I always dreaded that class; every day it was hot and muggy, it had a foul smell, my classmates were rude, and even Ms. Howard was rude. When teachers are rude, I seem to have a “Fine. I’ll do what I want. I will not give you my best because obviously you do not deserve it, nor care.” I really did not stick with that attitude just because I am more respectable than that, more than I should be. One day, the day before an essay was done, Ms. Howard sat and “taught” class, rather than giving back our drafts like she promised. At the end of class, I walked up to her desk and asked, “Have you looked at my draft? Can I have it back so I can finalize it?” She looked up, neglecting the caring tone that she should have presented, “Sorry, I’ll read it now,” flipped through the white pages literally for a second and scribbled chicken scratch, so I couldn’t even read it. She then handed my essay back to me and said in a rushing voice, “Here you go! Looks great, now get to class before the bell rings.” I was just astonished by how selfish she acted with a promise she made to the entire class. She always had this “It’s not my problem” attitude. It made me wonder why I struggled so much in class when the

I am writing this letter to you so you know the things that happened before the summer of seventh grade. I am not expecting you to understand what I am writing to you. I hope you can take in as much information as you can. We have been friends since the second grade. I do not think you remember that. After the accident, I have been carrying this guilt inside of me. The only person that is making me carry this guilt is me. I want to first start off by saying that you were my first ever true friend. Despite our major differences, we somehow connected in a way that I have never connected with anyone before. Your family has treated me like my own family. Your sister and your mother treated me with such kindness, which is the factor that makes me

The next few weeks at school dragged on and the relationship with my teacher was strained. As soon as I stepped into Mrs. Lee’s classroom the pit in my stomach plummeted thinking about her accusations towards me. Nevertheless, I still maintained my love for school. I enjoyed the enlightened feeling I got from learning something new and the institution provided a place for me and my friends to play and be imaginative. I did not realize that that my love for play would subject me to another occasion of discriminatory

My most significant experience in my life is unforgettable. I was there with my sisters, my mom, and my dad. It was the most horrifying event that I have ever witnessed. The daunting image in my head is still clear as day, as though it happened yesterday. This event did not affect only me, but also my family. The story that I am about to tell you may change the way you see things and it may not. All I can say is, it

You told me that it was very virtuous of me and that you were proud of me (which was shocking to me) because you knew it was a lot to admit it. Your right it took everything out of me I was legit shaking as I was telling you. I was so relieved to tell you because it was killing me inside. It was killing me because when my mom found out she told me (her exact words) Mr. Hopkins would be ashamed and disgusted with you. Until I told you that are what kept replaying in my head when I saw you. You made me sure you weren't going to judge me for it which was honestly amazing because everyone else sure did judge me for the mistake. I made one horrible mistake and it ruined my senior year for me and still constantly haunts me. (Which I’d thought it would ruin my senior year but I and you both know that is not true) But you always know the right things to say. I am so lucky and grateful to have met you. You have believed in me when I haven’t believed in myself.

Walking out of the classroom, I quickly thought up lies in my head that I could say to cover up all the mischief I caused the past week. But, it was different this time – my principal told me that my sister was in the main office and she would be picking me up early, my mom was at the hospital with my dad, everything would be fine though. I packed up my bag and met my sister in the office; she said something about my mother crying and how serious she sounded. “She’s just overreacting, you know mom,” I said. Nothing could ever happen to my dad, he was my buddy, my superman; he could overcome

I was deeply focused on my classwork when my fourth-grade teacher pulled me aside from the class and told me that I needed to go to the principal’s office because my mom was going to pick me. Naturally, I was filled with joy because I was going to leave school early, but a question popped into mind. Why did I need to go to the principal’s office? I disregarded the thought and packed up my things. I slowly walked to principal’s office with my head down and thoughts rushing through my mind. What had happened? Is everything all right? Yet, the questions did not help the situations, for none of my questions were going to get answered any time soon. Once I finally put my head up, I had arrived. I gradually reached for the door in fear of what was to come. I opened the door to find the exact picture I was hoping not to see. My sister was sobbing while my mom was shouting in rapid Spanish.