Personal Narrative : ' The Robot '

Growing up with a father in the military, you move around a lot more than you would like to. I was born just east of St. Louis in a city called Shiloh in Illinois. When I was two years old my dad got the assignment to move to Hawaii. We spent seven great years in Hawaii, we had one of the greatest churches I have ever been to name New Hope. New Hope was a lot like Olivet's atmosphere, the people were always friendly and there always something to keep someone busy. I used to dance at church, I did hip-hop and interpretive dance, but you could never tell that from the way I look now.

I think that my family realized that I had crossed the threshold between childhoods when I began to form my own opinions. This first took hold when I took part in poverty stimulation at my local shelter. I was giving a character and a story behind the card I was given; the story made me become emotionally attached to this name I had been assigned and the family in which I came from. The experience made me question the prejudice of the society I was living in. How many times had I avoided eye contact with the people on the side of the road begging for money? I began a long journey of soul searching and questioning the beliefs my parents had raised me on. My thoughts were continually brought back to a book by C.S Lewis, it was called Out of the Silent Planet; a character named Weston believed that individual human lives don’t matter, they must be sacrificed to save mankind.

After Dallas had convinced everyone else that going to the bar and getting shit-faced was a good idea. She was forced to go as well. Seeing as how she was practically their baby sitters. Darry stayed behind with Johnny and Pony, not wanting them to go. While she was stuck with Dally, Steve, Two-Bit, and Soda. And she as the designated driver. They all looked old enough to be drinking, even though they weren't, so they got to go into the bar.

Author's Note: The Choreo awards was amazing because I got meet the actual characters in my book for the first time. It was odd because the people I idolized for so long, suddenly became more human. If you'd like to know all of the juicy details on my night, feel free to PM me :) Also because of this wonderful occasion I didn't have time to write for 2 days, but don't fear, I will try to get back into my writing routine for you guys. This chapter is longer than usual to make up for lost time.

When I was young my Dad would always remind me of how important these years as a kid are. He would always say watch how you act as a kid, for it will set the stage for the rest of your life. So many people I know ruined their lives when they were kids. This small, yet so important statement runs through my mind everyday. I love how everyone says they don’t care what people think of them, but I wish they knew how important it is to have a good image. I am not perfect, but I would like to be close as possible. But as Salvador Dali said “Have no fear of perfection, you’ll never reach it. “ The problem I see is everyone wanting to be someone that they are not. Sure, we all have our idols that we look

Throughout the conversation, Susan did not inform me that the home was still in First Look and not open to investors at this time. Susan did not highlight any features of the home, nor did she talk about the neighborhood or the surrounding area. When asked, Susan paused to reference the property file and stated, "In looking at the pictures it appears that it needs interior paint, carpet, appliances, and a few windows, which the previous seller must have taken." She stated, "I don't know why they have to remove things from the homes." I asked, "Do you have offers?" She paused to check the property file and answered, "No offers." I asked, "Is the property behind the home farmland?" She paused to reference the property file and replied, "It appears

I walked into the gym at Florissant Valley Community College eager with anticipation for our first Robotics tournament of the year. My hands shook as I held “Curtis the Robit ,” but it wasn’t because of the weight. To me, Curtis the Robit was more than just a fifteen-pound amalgamation of cables, steel, and aluminum; he was the culmination of months of systematic building and testing. In my hands was the physical representation of countless hours spent. As the leader of my team, I became engulfed by the furor of competition, desperate to prove what we were capable of.

I always find myself staring blankly at my computer screen. The cursor flashes, mocking me, and the only word I have written is ‘the.’ I close my eyes, trying to think of all the things I did over the summer and in the past four years, and somehow, my mind only draws up the lyrics to Beyonce’s “Run the World.”

I believe in my dog. I believe that she is way more than just a standard classified pet. How could she just be some domesticated dog? There’s no way; Bella is too understanding to be categorized as a pet or even a domesticated dog.

Home is the beginning of one’s book. It is where your story begins, forms its characters, shows its purpose, and reveals its ora. This is how mine is written. Home is on the buzzing highway down a bumpy gravel road. It’s Brandon, Mississippi. It is the only home I’ve ever known. Home is the smell of homemade biscuits and tomato gravy on Saturday mornings. It is “Bless Your Heart” and “Yes Mam” and “No Sir”. The little bedroom in the back of a grey double-wide where Carrie Underwood songs played and where I learned to curl my hair and put on mascara. My cousins and I running around with mason jars, chasing the lightning bugs. Bar-B-q on the back porch and never meeting a stranger. It is the morals learned and the identity

After seeing the monster I was I had got my answer to my question, that had been haunting me for as long as I could remember.When saw the monster I was, i had a new question that I was determined to find the answers to.Who am I and who had created this monster I see.

Life really doesn't like to tell you what's ahead; sometimes it's nice and gives you a little hint, sometimes life replays itself so at least there's some familiarity in it, but most of the time my life seems out of my control. As a fifteen year old many people would hear me say this and scoff saying I don't have 'real' problems, or I don't know what the 'real' world is like. On one hand they're right, I shouldn't know what the 'real' world is like, most fifteen year olds are thinking about what picture they Instagram is a 'real' world problem. But being the not-so-average teenager, I do know what this so called 'real' world is.

Any single human experience can only properly be judged by that human’s amount of dread or anticipation in it’s beginning or end.

Pure desperation is vomiting behind public dumpsters, or stealing laxatives from Target; it is shoving food into your pockets and your hair, hoping no one witnessed you scraping the butter from you slice of toast, storing the excess behind your fingernails. It is wearing ankle weights to yearly physicals, donating blood to “shed a few quick pounds”, and bringing plastic sandwich bags to Thanksgiving dinner to avoid eating the beautifully prepared meal. I was ten years old when I read that I could eat whatever I wanted without gaining weight, permitted that I was willing to carry a toothbrush around in my bag. Little did I know at the time that my playing with such dangerous behavior would then lead to my brain waging war against my body, a series of battles that I would consistently lose over the course of the next nine years.

A time like Gates father when I should have spoken up, but choose not to, was recently this summer when I was a summer intern at the "H. Carl Moultrie Superior Courthouse" in my hometown of Washington, D.C. I and all my co-workers were downstairs in the mail room and a man who works at the court building came in the office with an attitude. He was supposed to be removing the boxes in the Mail room because they weren't supposed to be in the mail room.When picking up the boxes he said, "you people should be picking up these boxes". Meaning "us" black people should be picking up the boxes and not him because he's caucasian . When the comment was made everybody in the office immediately, got offended one of my male co workers asked him what he