Personal Narrative: The Servant Girl

On Monday 6/29/2015 Sgt. Alexander and I was dispatched to the Hostess House located at 6741 Highway 70 in reference to 2 subject, Mr. Burnette and Mr. Jacobs that were renting room 251 and had outstanding warrants.

I spoke with Sarah Morra regarding the home. She listened carefully and patiently to my inquiry and then informed me that the home was still available. Then, she mentioned that it was tenant occupied and once an offer was accepted, the tenants would have sixty days to vacate. In addition, she informed me that it was being sold "As-Is." Sarah provided brief information about the property, however, she did not do so in an upbeat and encouraging manner. Although Sarah was friendly, she made no effort to build rapport. In general, I found her professionalism to be

In "Incidents in the Life of a Slave Girl", Harriet Jacobs writes, "Slavery is terrible for men; but it is far more terrible for women" (64). Jacobs' work shows the evils of slavery as being worse in a woman's case by the gender. Jacobs elucidates the disparity between societal dictates of what the proper roles were for Nineteenth century women and the manner that slavery prevented a woman from fulfilling these roles. The book illustrates the double standard of for white women versus black women. Harriet Jacobs serves as an example of the female slave's desire to maintain the prescribed virtues but how her circumstances often prevented her from practicing.

So, I want to begin by saying, I didn't finish this book. I had so many problems with the writing and characters that I did not enjoy reading it for the most part.

On October 17, 2033, I was adopted from The Carey House For Girls soon after my third “birthday”, when Dixon was 10. I was your average orphan girl: left on the doorstep with a name around my neck before I could remember my parents faces, so the day i was taken in (October 11th) became my birthday. I never once wondered about who/where/how my birth parents were. I wasn’t mad that they gave me away nor was i curious as to why they did it. I simply didn’t care. For instance, One day when i was 13, a couple showed up at our house claiming to be my parents. Cia and Page were busy upstairs so I invited them in, shared some juice with them, chatted a bit with them, and then showed them out the door. By the time my mom asked me about who came in,

That moment, thirteen years ago, was the moment that changed everything. I was young, at only 22 years old, and filled with excitement for the new job that began only one week prior. The typical first day jitters were beginning to settle, though I still felt new and quite anxious. My desire to fit in, make new friends, and to impress my peers radiated through me. I was on a mission to excel in my new role. Little did I know, when I began that day, my naive self would be in for a rude awakening. I would soon be discriminated against.

Since I can remember, I have always had a wild imagination. I remember staring off into space for long hours, which really had only been a few minutes, imagining what it would be like to fly. To sprout large angelic wings from my back and take off out of the open windows of my small classrooms. Or what it would be like to grow a set of gills and live my life under the sea with all the fish and dolphins. None of my friends ever seem to think quite like I do; imagine the same way I did. None of them spend as long staring off into the blank nothingness as my mind wanders beyond the realms of existence. My second grade year, I finally began to realize that this was a gift God had graced me with. The ability to imagine beyond what

good five minutes before a small smile appeared on my lips. I stuck my hand into my pockets as i walked back to the institute and hummed to myself a little on the way.

It’s May 29, 2016 it’s sunny outside but there’s a storm on the way. The hospital room was cramped with the two incubators in there. I’m at the hospital visiting my sister and my nieces Lillian and Meredith. I am holding Lillian for the first time and I have to be extremely careful with her head because she just had an iv taken out of her head earlier that day. She’s only about 3 ounces and she’s about a foot long. She’s sleeping peacefully while I hum a lullaby to her. Both my nieces are strong because they have fought off little cold like bronchitis, but another person who is strong is my sister Ashley who herself is 5’2 with brown hair with blonde highlights throughout her hair. She may look tiny in size but physically and mentally

When I went for the interview the girls over there were really friendly and welcoming. A past co-worker of mine from a previous job was working at my current job and she told mw about it. The place that I was the doctor was a mess, awesome doctor but awful as a boss and he had no benefits what so ever. In this new place that I am now they have a 401k plan, insurance, 80 hours of paid vacation after 90 days of employment, aflac and a health savings account. When they offered me the job and told me all those benefits that I did not had before and their salary is more competitve I couldn't say

In the year of eighteen hundred and ninety six, for a woman at my age to still be living the life of a miss is highly ‘unlady-like’ of me, especially in the heart of the South – Savannah, Georgia. For the most part, my family has me all done up like porcelain doll. Always making sure I am ‘Wedding ready’ as my aunt Martha likes to say. Martha is a kind and noble woman but let me make this very clear those are her words not mine. In my eyes most of what she has to say is redundant. I personally can never tell if the woman is fond of me or thinks I am the spawn of the devil here to fill her daughter‘s head with ideas of a sinful life. Martha speaks to me like she just realized the lemon she bit into is sour. Face always scrunched with nose

“Congratulations it is a girl”. These are the final words that I told a girl, the last ones she would hear before I took her life. I wanted her to die like this sad, lonely, and in fear. No one would understand why I felt this way. My only friend were the voices that were in my head yelling and ringing like sirens, never stopping making me want to hurt people and do bad things. I wanted to control it, everyday before I go I want to stop myself, but I just can't.

The lyrics ran through my head as I scrolled through my Instagram feed. In a time where a small waist and big butt were in fashion, it came more naturally than I anticipated for women to encourage each other to ‘improve their looks’. The more I scrolled, the more I realized that women validated themselves by their physical appearance, finding more worth in the curve of their hips rather than the flexibility of their thoughts.

The feminist movement has had a resurgence of enthusiasm in the past couple of years, and many people are itching to either hop onto that train, or attempt to stop it at any and all costs. I would consider myself to be a generally well-informed passenger. However, I am a firm believer that knowledge is power, and I think any opportunity to become more educated on a topic is an opportunity to further empower oneself. As a young woman growing up in this new age of intersectional feminism, I am always looking for more ways to become more informed.

As I drifted into sleep that night, I delve head first into the realm my mind had created. Rather than simply seeing, I remembered snippets, clips, small images of the events that had occurred at tonights festivities. Thanasis ' joking, Tases ' silver ring, and the odd man who sat in the corner of the hall, hood pulled far over his head, thereby shielding his face from anyone who might pay him attention. I hadn 't thought much of him, just a lone man, I had thought, and gone about the nights high spirited enjoyments. But something kept pulling me back, urging me to look again. Another image, the man was closer now, standing. I tried my best to avoid staring, but he didn 't seem real. He was there, in spirit perhaps, but something about the edges of his form blurred and rippled. It was as though he were only an image, and not substantial. I hadn 't expected to see him again, having paid him so little attention in the first place. I felt uncomfortable. I felt his gaze and realised that even though I was dreaming, it was unlike any dream I had ever had before. People about me buzzed and chatted, linked arms and drank, while this man, this stranger, moved closer and closer. I couldn 't stop watching him, and I found myself unable to move - wether by fear or by the act of some malignant magic, I had no idea.