Personal Narrative: Personal Identity

I quickly swallowed my homemade authentic Indian food leftovers and gulped down my chocolate milk. Looking down at my watch that read 11:28am, I knew that I only had two minutes until my most favorite part of the day: recess. This particular day in 5th grade, I had run a lap around the playground before getting the rest of recess to myself. As I started walking for my warmup, another student ran up and said, “My parents said that your people caused 9/11.” Completely caught off guard, I held back the tears in my eyes and tried to shake off his comment. I had never encountered something like this.

What do you want me to say? (Throws hands up in the air) That I am so excited to be moving to another foster home? That my parents didn’t want me to begin with in the first place? How can “parents” do that to someone? To be excited to be treated the same as I have been in every other home before? No. These people are going to be just like every other set of parents that I’ve always had, not excepting and judgmental. They will be excited at first to meet me, get to know me, and then a few years down the road, they will say that they can’t connect with me, and can’t do this anymore. If you’re wondering if I care, I don’t and I am not excited. (She turns her body to look at Mike) But you know what? All of this won’t even matter in a couple years, I’m going to be eighteen in a few days, I am not a baby

What makes up our identity?This question has been asked for a really long time that some have attempted to answer but often look at the wrong things that make up our identity.Some people have thought that what makes up our identity are the different important times in our life.Though what really makes up our identity are the 7 categories of otherness.The 7 categories of otherness are race, sexual orientation, age, religion, able- bodied, gender and finally socio-economic.

There were several times when act of persuasion seriously affected and deeply changed my life. However, immigrating to United States is on the top of my list that affected not only my life, but also who I am. During my fifth grade year, my uncle’s family called and suggested about participating in a foreign exchange student program. At first, I was not sure if I would be able to take care of myself away from my parents and because of that, I continued to say “no” until in the middle of my sixth grade year. During those one and a half years of hesitation, my uncle had sent me pictures of his house, surroundings, school, etc. Those pictures gave me a whole new perspective about immigrating to United States and helped me build enough

I interviewed Bria. She is a senior who goes to Rosemount High School. She plans on going to Normandale for two years. So that she can get her basic college classes out of the way. Her family wants to plan to move to Houston before she finishes up her basic college classes at Normandale or maybe after. She plans on moving by herself or with a trusted friend. She then plans on finding a college she would like to finish the rest of her years at. She was looking in California because she would really like to live there. Bria was also considering Florida. But she isn’t sure yet. She’s waiting to see how her future goes and then make big decisions like those on where she wants to live or start a family. Bria has also had experience with moving since

Being the sibling of a rising, hot Hollywood starlet is not the glamorous role that it seems. Well, alright, the parties and freebies and constant spotlight on your family does have its perks. Not to mention all the access to every hedonistic desire you could want, practically whenever you want it. But there is a downside to it as well: the stepping out of the shot for photo calls, the 3rd tier seating at awards shows, the neglect by your parents…but I digress.

Personal Identity is something I have never sat down and specifically thought about. Lucky for me, I have seldom had an instance where I was disadvantaged because of my identity. I assume that everyone has parts of themselves that they dislike-it is human nature, but we are who we are and I believe that everyone needs to be proud of that. The person I identify with is diverse from anyone else but that what makes humans so incredible. The person I classify with is someone who I am satisfied with in both my personal and professional self.

All of my classes were pretty lame and boring. I am in a math class that was grade above me so, I had no one from my freshman class to talk to. Period four ended and I was super excited to meet Jenny for our first detective class.

“You’re right but shut up and listen,” Jackie yelled. “ I hung out with him for half of the night then he said he had this other party, so without thinking I went. It was the most disturbing place in the world Joe, there was a whole bunch of junkies roaming around and it was in an underground location. The place was shady. He pulled me in deeper until I could finally hear the music. I saw people lined up to enter, but I spotted something weird. The man letting people enter was accompanied by two bigger bodyguards. This particular man was holding some type of mask connected to huge tanks, each person put the mask on for a few seconds, and it seemed as if the man wouldn’t let them in until they inhaled a certain amount. I noticed that I was getting

My ribcage creaks as I draw in a quick breath, sending a sharp pain down my left side. I cringe. When I begin to sit up, every muscle in my body screams in protest.

A sense of belonging to me is fitting in or just belonging to a place. Like having a special connection to a place that I feel comfortable at. A place I could belong is where I’m born or my house or a certain place that I feel a connection to.

It took ten minutes to walk to school, so when I arrived at school, I was right on time. When I walked into the classroom, many people were staring at me in awe. However, the blonde haired girl stomped up to me and said, “You copycat, I was wearing this shirt yesterday, and now you are wearing it. I liked you as a friend, you were perfectly fine, and so you don’t need to copy me. It is okay to be different!” She stormed away, and put her head on her desk. To my disbelief, many others were nodding their heads in agreement. I was so apprehensive, that I, too, ran away, but instead of to a desk, I ran right out of the school, and never came back. That day, I learned a valuable lesson that I will keep for my entire life: People adore you when you’re different. Do not copy others, because you are you, and it is good that

I walked into my first class which was history. I was the first one there. Oh no wait that isn’t right, there 's a person in a hood. Well, at least I think it’s a hood. I quickly sat down and waited for the class to fill up. But the person walked up to me. It was a guy or boy I couldn’t tell because I couldn’t quite figure out the features of his face.

On my first day of school, young naive me made the fatal choice to to volunteer to pass out papers. “Yes, the young man over there,” said Dr. Davis and the whole class burst out laughing. When Dr. Davis realized his mistake, he apologized profusely. I didn’t care about the situation (people call me a boy all the time; I’m used to

During my fifth period AP language arts class, Mr. Coil was giving a daily lecture about the lesson. I was busy focusing on my green apple that I always ate in class, but I looked up as I saw a streak of bright white go past me—like a shooting star in broad daylight. It was a boy. The boy always wore a bright white shirt with knee-length khaki shorts. I would always see him walking out from study skills or the study hall room as most people call it, into the classroom and vice versa. There were many people who followed the same procedure daily, but he was the one who caught my attention. Fast-forwarding on, the bell rang for dismissal, and I grabbed my belongings and went to the trashcan to throw away the wrapper and the core of the apple. “Hi.” My heart nearly stopped beating for a split-second. I slowly looked up. “Um hi?” was my response, but the tone of it was unintentionally disgusted and confused. The reason for this was because I was also wary of new people coming to me; typically, they did not want to befriend me. They want something from me: mostly homework help. The bell was beckoning me to leave right away since I would get a zero in my art class if I did not come on time, so I left. That event was like Cinderella leaving Prince Charming when the clock struck midnight. However, I did not leave anything behind except for the wrapper containing the apple core in the trashcan.