Personal Narrative Protest

The other day, I tried to share an article, on a social justice issue, with my close friend [white, cisgendered female], but before I could start reading, she responded with “Ugh, don’t read that. I’m not in the mood for anything depressing,” all the while rolling her eyes.

At a young age, I moved from the country I was born in (Dominican Republic) to Miami Florida. Moving is not an easy thing to do, I had to leave all of my friends and family behind and become familiarized with uncertain place. I was surrounded by the unknown, everything was strange and so different to what I was usually use to. At the time I could not speak any English at all but that eventually did not matter to me, I slowly started adapting to my new environment and I became more positive. Although I could not communicate well and had a few obstacles I was very organized with my studies and kept very decent grades.

When my mother asked me to read a book a few months ago, I was hesitant to agree. A stressful school year was approaching, and seeing my friends on a Saturday night seemed much more appealing. When I was younger, curling up with a good book was a typical pastime. Then came high school, and reading was replaced with countless hours of studying, cheer practice, and trying to figure out when I could catch up on some much needed rest.

dear Sean I'm going to start off by saying that I hope I do this letter in the correct format, I did not get much background informations on what this was supposed to all include. but that's okay I'll give it my best shot but with that said I'm not I'm not sure if it'll just being you hearing the this or if it will be read aloud in your tool group I decided that I'm going to write this as if only you are are going to be hearing this. anyways let's get this started you know how much trouble I my emotions at least my emotions that weakness is paper is difficult for me to do simply because I hate showing people my emotions because I hate others being in my business and I'm always so worried about others judging me but with that said for

Seldom individuals living here in South Carolina classify themselves as a proud Democrat, or one advocating for the democratic political party. South Carolina has always been one of the largest right-leaning and outspoken states. That is just our reputation in the United States. The majority of people inhabiting the state claim themselves as conservative Republicans. I happen to be an exception. Even though I grew up in a household full of conservative, right-wing Republicans, I consider myself a proud liberal due to their differing views and my views mixing greater with theirs.

The summer of 2015 was the summer I moved for the first time in my life. Moving was a mix of emotions because after thirteen years I became attached to my bedroom and the looks of my house. The certain smells I would get when I walked through the door. Then, leaving that house that I have lived in and that bedroom I slept in for all those years was hard. It was a nice house and all, and I loved my room, but only a couple days later, I was already comfortable in my new home.

In that moment I realized the world isn’t all friendship and giggles. I never expected to see or hear someone so cruel before in my life, I thought it only ever happened in the telenovelas my mom and watched after she picked me up from elementary school. I could see Skylar, the new student in my kindergarten class, talking with an upperclassman behind the tall metal slide. I barely heard the introductions, but I could clearly hear when the upperclassman laughed. He laughed at the name that the boy was given. I didn’t expect what came out of my mouth, and they certainly didn’t either.

The bright white screen fills the room as I hold the remote up to the TV. I flick continuously through the channels, hoping something will take my fancy. I pause on a breaking news story. The voice of a woman fills the air as she explains. ‘A runaway escapee and murderer last seen heading towards the South end of Australia has disappeared. Anyone in the areas of’, I reach for the off button as the mumbles of voices drown out as the TV turns off. I put the remote down and shut my eyes. The dark patterns and swirls fill the darkness as I fill my mind with the endless possibilities from some of the deepest parts of my mind. I replay the series of my day over and over in my head. Replacing the mistakes in the day and presenting myself with what

The most powerful moment that has happened to me involving music happened in the middle of my seventh grade year. Prior to seventh grade, I played the violin but desired to learn the Double Bass. I asked a few times if I could switch instruments so that I could fulfil that desire, but my teacher always turned me down telling me that I should just stick with the violin, this of course made me devasted. Then the following school year, the teacher asked if anybody could play Bass because Alex (the bassist) had moved to a different school and we had only one bassist left in the orchestra and at that moment I got my chance to learn an instrument that I not only loved to hear, but also loved to look at, listen to and play. My teacher was skeptical

It was the last day of school and I was so excited for summer. I was going to do all kinds of stuff and go out of the state. In reality I was going for one of my worst summer ever. All I was going to do is travel most of the time. It was going to be the most boring summer ever.

At this point it was halfway through the year of 2006, summer break had just begun. The third grade was a difficult school year, this year I was introduced to the End of Grade state exams. Nonetheless, I passed the third grade along with Ruby passing kindergarten. This year so far was already a fantastic year, and it was only about to become better. My family had discussed plans about this summer, it was going to be the best summer ever. This summer was packed with trips to public swimming pools, visiting our relatives, fishing at my grandparents, and our annual trip to the beach. On this warm, breezy evening in early June, eight-year-old me in this brand-new blue dress with two bright yellow bows with my sister, were in my parent’s bedroom

I hugged Bruno, our bouncy boxer, goodbye as he headbutted me and doused my face with his sloppy, sandpaper tongue. Then I hugged Bruno’s sidekick, Edi, our just-as-bouncy Jack Russell Terrier. They didn’t know this would be the last moment we would be together for a long time.

Addie and I stood in the entrance of the cafe as the rain dripped down the overhang and down the brown and red sign that read Addie’s Cafe. It seemed like it was one of those normal rainy days in Wyoming but it wasn’t. Addie’s my aunt, she took me in when my mother couldn’t and she’s amazingly generous, so you’d think over the few years everything got better, and so did I but it seemed things were only getting worse.

I was scared. No, I was more than scared. Terrified maybe. As I looked out the window in my two bedroom house, I could see a van in my driveway. It was completely dark, I was supposed to be sleeping, but of course, I was not. My mom was at work. I started pacing around, thinking of what my mother said to do if there ever was an intruder. However, I still couldn’t remember, I guess I was too busy with my pacing.

Bright and early on my fifth birthday, my family and I uprooted our lives in Florida and traveled here to Georgia. Memories of Florida are hazy, but if I were to describe the past years here in Georgia in a single word, bold and in all caps would be the word “struggle.” We came here chasing a dream, the dream of a prosperous future in the booming automotive industry. Unfortunately that dream shattered to pieces, and like a barrier, we endured the shrapnel.