Personal Narrative: My Moving

Moving. Amanda didn’t like this idea. Her mom got a job out of town to earn even more money

getting ready and i noticed that my basket full of food was empty. ‘Those darn animals must of

Moving, for many people, can be a difficult process. A lot of the time kids have to switch schools and deal with the challenge of making new friends and getting used to everything new. Since my parents divorced when I was five years old, I can remember living in many different homes. My mother would rent out a place, live there for a few months, then meet a new guy and move on. For years, I hoped to myself that my mom and dad would get back together, like Nick and Elizabeth Parker from “The Parent Trap.” I knew, however, deep down that such a thing just couldn’t happen. My four siblings and I were dragged along, forced to go with the flow and adapt as quickly as possible. Up till she married her second husband, Tony. As young as I was,

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.

At a very young age, I began making my own decisions and putting myself first. After my parents got divorced, my mom decided to move. The move wasn't small. In fact, it was a very large one. We were moving halfway across the world. I did not understand why we had to move but I knew my mom would always make the best decisions for our family. First, it seemed cool when I was telling everybody. But then it hit me hard, knowing that I wasn't going to see my friends and family for a very long time. At the age of eight, I did not understand what was going on. I felt like I was out of the loop. I was going to have to make new friends and meet new people even though I did not know the language. Even when it came to finding something to eat, we did not know how to order food. It was a great struggle that was hard to overcome.

”Yes, I think that it would be in our best interest after what with your father.”

Moving, although natural, is not easy to most people. How many things are involved when you have to leave your school and friends behind to go to a place totally unfamiliar where anything could go wrong? For me, more than I could count since my family decided to move four thousands miles away.

I get down on all fours and relax my whole body, my bones begin to crack. Unlike most wolves, where it stops hurting awhile after your first shift. Mine shift didn't. It still hurts even though it has been six years (No. Our cloths they don't rip, and no. Don't ask me where they go)

Have you ever lost someone or something that was very important to you? In this prompt I am going to tell you about me having to move from one house to another.

It’s Monday, March 15 1943. Each day just gets harder, more people start getting sent to execution camps or how my parents tell my little brother, “a place that needs more workers.” I’m scared for the day it’s my parents getting called to leave, or my little bother, Ash. I know things will start to become stricter due to the Resistance fighters, me being one of them, which have been trying to get through the Muranowska Pokorna Wall. The number of German soldiers to barricade walls has increased. With the hundreds of us that attempted to escape through the wall, I was lucky I wasn’t killed and was able to get away without the Germans knowing I was part of the resistance. I know my family couldn’t handle losing me now. Both my parents are weak and they know that there time to be sent to the concentration camps is coming soon. I just hope it’s me who leaves before them. I don’t think I could take care of ash on my own. I don’t think I could make the situation we’re in seem any better than how it really is. He’s seven years old, but he’s had to grow up a lot faster than most seven year olds his age, everybody in Warsaw has. Tonight was the last night I will be staying in Warsaw, or at least that is what I am hoping for. It took a lot for my family to understand my decision to be part of the resistance. But they respect my choice now. I know it is selfish, and I know it won’t be easy. But I can’t hide anymore, I can’t wait around to be killed. I want to fight back even if it means maybe leaving behind the thing I love most in the world. The fights are

My interviewee is a mother of twins who came from Vietnam. Her name is Tran Huang, who was originally born in Qui Nhon, Vietnam in 1976, then her family moved to the capital of Vietnam, Saigon, in 1978. On June 1986, my mother left Vietnam and emigrated to the United States in September of 1986. During my mother’s time in Vietnam, the Vietnam War had ended but the social hierarchy was collapsed and it had left the country in a state of caution. My mother was thirteen years old when she arrived in America. I chose my mother to be interviewed because she had risked her life escaping Vietnam during a time when there was a lot of turmoil in Southeast Asia. If she had not crossed the Pacific and enter into America, I would not be here today and

I see a bright light my eyes feel stuck together like they don't want to open,soon enough I see clearly and start to see something grey with pointy ears. I turn to the other side of the bed and see my mom standing there waiting for me to get out of bed. I start to sit up as my mom starts to talk.

It was the first time I was going to drive. My dad stopped on the gravel and said,”Drive to the house.” I hopped into the driver's seat and tried moving the gear shift. “Um, dad it's not moving,” I said. He responded with,”Son you have to put your foot on the break to move the gear shift.” I set my foot on the break the threw the gear shift into drive. I stepped on the gas pedal and the car took off. The whole way to the house it was like a stop and go sort of thing. I was really scared to hit the gas pedal because I was afraid it was going to go way too fast. Also, The car was so touchy! Every time I would give it a little gas the car would rev up its engine. As the car went down the hill I had my foot on break the whole time. Every time I

I found it a little difficult to find what to write about that would satisfy the definition of my “minutia”. Perhaps it is because I did not quite understand what minutia really meant outside of a textbook definition and in the real world, or I have not fully realized or acknowledged on a consistent basis how many of the moments in my life have contributed to that which has an effect on me in the form of shaping or altering me. After nostalgically scrolling through my Instagram profile for a while the other day, I came across quite a few photos of me recording my gym workouts dating from the autumn of 2014 and into early 2015, and I eventually decided that this would suit the requirements for what could be my own minutia.

My road starts in Iraq, where I started playing soccer. Soccer has and still is, a big part of my life. I started it after my uncle died. He loved soccer and was the best uncle ever. My father did soccer and so is my brother at FFC. 2 years in soccer at a game is where I first broke a bone, my right leg. I threw up and then fainted. I spend about a week in the hospital. My road keeps moving to Jordan, more specifically in Amman. I have stopped playing soccer after I broke my leg. So I got into karate. I began karate about the 2nd month living in Jordan. I picked it up very quickly.I earned my black belt. One tragic day at a competition, the same leg broke again.