Personal Narrative : Personal Essay

“ You seem to sweet and too much of a nice boy to be in here with all of these bad and dumb children” Karen said.

I’m just a tall, skinny, little girl. The confidence level in myself is very low, and it’s hard for me to find friends that actually like me for who I am. I walk in these brick doors almost every morning wondering what today will be like. The cold air hits your face as one would walk into Mrs. Price’s classroom. I sit at my light, wood colored desk hearing all the little voices around me. Suddenly, my ears feel as if they were going to burst. Mrs. Price yelled at the top of her lungs.

Plav, Montenegro is a small, poor village in Europe. It is the place where my parents were born and raised. Even though I was born in Brooklyn, New York, I feel I was raised in Plav, Montenegro, too. Growing up in America, where the culture and traditions are so different from that of Montenegro, I was faced with the obstacle of trying to become part of mainstream America while maintaining my own culture.

It was the eighth grade and middle school was an insufferable pit full of annoying people always looking to drag the other down. There was a large group, the preps; they tormented me picking on everything they could. I’d become convinced by my so called friends that the only way to distance myself from these girls was to be different, but only in the way that they told me to. We all wore skinny jeans, hair in our faces, t-shirts from hot topic, and listened to loud, angry music all in a sad attempt to be different, but that was never really me and my friends hated me for that. No matter how hard I tried, it was never enough to please the little rulers of our dark group. I only had one real friend; her name was raven and she never cared how

When I was about 11 years old, my godfather and I went to New York City for two weeks and for a child my age it was a grand adventure. He came and picked me up from my house in the middle of the night at around 2 a.m. The drive was not too long because by the time we got to New York it was about 5 a.m. Once we got to the hotel we had to park outside and sleep in the car for a few hours until it was time to check in. Once we checked in we went and planned out whole day to make sure that no time was wasted. For a child my age it was a must that the first thing we had to do was to go to the Super Toys R Us, so that I could go and ride the indoor Ferris wheel.

“FINE! Then live a lonely life!” she said as she spun around and slammed the door as she left.

“And here it is Susan. Your new home,” said the female case worker just a little bit too happily. The “new home” she had spoken of was a shabby looking apartment in Harlem, New York City. “Go on deary,” she said yet again in that all too bright voice,” your new foster mother will be waiting for you.” As soon as Susan had stepped out of the car, she had sped away in a hurry. She could feel the cool early-October breeze on her skin and shivered. This only added to the feelings of nervousness she had about meeting her new foster mother, Betty Walters. “Well,” she thought ,”it’ s now or never.”

One of my my family stories is that one time we went to las Vegas so the day before we packed our bags and we were going to drive there but before I had to help my little brother pack his bags because he did not know what to pack and then in one in the morning we all woke up and got ready to drive there and the reason we left early is because it was a twelve hour drive and when we got there we were tired from just sitting and just doing nothing for the twelve hours and they wanted to go play and they couldn't go without me and I was tired but I had to go because they told on me.

"You won't drag her into this!" Cole's words were slurred and he sounded even more angry than usually. To put it as gently as I can, Cole

Waking up around 12 at night clutching my stomach tightly, slowly walking toward the bathroom door to find out that someone already in there. Walking back to my room to sit down. The pain from my stomach was astonishing. A pain I had never felt before. I see my mom walking out of the bathroom “what are you doing, go to sleep” my stomach hurts I said slowly. “Walking out the door to go to the bathroom, I heard sirens. A loud ambulance sound ringing in my head. The picture of my family on my bedroom wall, spinning as if it were in a washing machine. Losing my balance. I faintly heard my mom ask, “Are you okay?”I fell into her arm.

Ahhhhhh! It was and brand new day I woke up brushed my teeth and got ready. I ate breakfast and left to school. I felt like the man. My fresh cut, a suit and tie and with my gown on a hanger helped me to feel this way. I had a huge smile on my face and with everybody looking at me I felt like I was unstoppable! I got to school and already everybody was complimenting each other on the left and the right. DING! The bell rang everybody walked up to homeroom. As we waited to get instructions from the teacher, the announcement sounded, “ALL 8th GRADERS, DOWN TO THE Cafeteria!!!! ALL 8th GRADERS DOWN TO THE Cafeteria!!! Thank you!”.

It’s my opinion, immovable objects and unstoppable forces should not get married. When I was nine I didn’t have a personal concept of what divorce meant. I had an “it could never happen to me” mindset. By December of 2010, it was official, I was now from a broken home. I found myself part of two very different households, both of which have shaped me into the person I am today.

First day of school, lunchtime rush, who do I sit with, who can I sit with, too late. The tables were full, I was already in a terrible situation and it’s only 3 hours into the school year. I search all around the lunchroom, I don’t know them, they don’t know me. This was

“Look who we have here boys, our town’s resident emo kid,” said one of the boys mockingly.

"No, I don 't want to do something with you right now. Just fucking leave already."