Personal Narrative: Three Am

On my first day as a freshman in high school, I would have never imagined it would turn out this way. My expectations were high. I would make a ton of friends, stay close to the old ones, be accepted into NHS, never get a grade below an A, graduate as a gold scholar, maybe even be one of the valedictorians for the class of 2016. I was on the fast track to success. I was leaving the horrid place called middle school. It could only go up from there, right? I’d been told a million times that these four years would be the best time of my life. Guess what? They lied. They all lied.

I remember a past experience that has influenced me to how I am today. I used to be afraid of heights until I went on an airplane. It had been my first time to ride an airplane and be in the air. When I first stepped on the plane I was very shaky about going. When the plane began to take off from the airport I was very nervous. We were up in the sky and I wanted to be back on the ground in a few minutes. It took a few hours. When we landed in Georgia we got off the plane and got our items.

Since I went to bed so early last night, I woke up more of an appetite and ready to eat. I had an big breakfast from the hotel buffet of sausage, ham, eggs, cheese, biscuits, and of course earl grey tea with sugar cubes. I took some biscuits with me for the long tube ride to hampton court palace.I knew I would not have time to stop for lunch.

When I was younger, I was very confident. (I still am to this day.) I used to speak my mind and tell people what I thought, (It often drove people away.) I used to talk to people about what I saw, What I knew, And teach them too.

Waking up every morning and going to school is my greatest ongoing accomplishment. This may seem vague and not at all very worthy but to me it has been the hardest thing I have ever done. My freshman year I was obsessed with getting all A’s and working hard so that I would be able to get into a good college. “You need to get good grades so that you can go to a good college so that you can get a good job so that you don’t end up a loser.” This was the mantra that was drilled into my head, it was the first thing on my mind when I woke up and the last thing before I fell asleep. Every choice I made became of the utmost importance, if I ate an apple rather than a bagel then it meant that I was not going to be a success. I started believing that

When people “serve you breakfast in bed,” it shows that we are passionate about the ones we are making it for. No matter how burnt the toast is, or how soggy the cheerios got because we don’t know how to prep a meal, we know that it came right from the right supramarginal gyrus1 , and not much

I sliced into the baked potato and slathered it in butter and salt. I next went to work on my steak. It was so tender I could hardly cut it; it was the perfect pink on the inside, brown around the edge, and crisp on the outside. I grabbed the A1 sauce and drowned my steak in it. I went at it, eating all of my favorite foods until I didn’t think I could ever eat again. My grandmother picked up the empty plates and replaced it with a piece of pie. I always have room for desert, so I took a big bite of the smooth, chocolate pudding pie, and I was in

Why does Corporate Mentality shun the idea of downtime? What is so sinister about a

He starts his wind-up. Loads and releases. Right in the wheelhouse. I have a moment where I'm in the zone and everything except for me is slow, giving me more than enough time to react. As it approaches home plate, about 3 feet left, I start my swinging feeling the movement, inch by inch. 3, 2, 1, CRACK!

I lay awake yet inattentive before finally shoving the warmth from my body in an attempt to revive my senses. Stale but brisk air embraced me, leaving me unguarded from harsh discomfort. This, however, did awaken my mind and jumpstart my flesh. My stomach fought me. Nothing except for a few strips of microwave cooked bacon, a slice of turkey, and a scoop of mashed potatoes had entertained my digestive system the day before. Thanksgiving had normally been a time for a gargantuan feast but this year was different. Money was in short supply.

I went out to the kitchen. Bacon was cooking. At that point, I knew I was done. I stacked up on eggs and ate 3 that morning, yolk and everything. Coupled with the bacon, it was the most satisfying breakfast of my

However, being the busy-body that I am, I began to make breakfast myself. Although I could not cook just like my grandmother, I could make my famous scrambled eggs every morning. I would never forget to go out in her garden and pick some chives — that was my secret ingredient. Soon, on any given day, I would be standing over the stove attempting to make an exact replica of my grandmother’s popular meals. Although it would taste good, it was not her cooking. At that point she might step it to add her own secret ingredients and the dish would be perfect. I loved cooking over her house; her refrigerator always had a variety of different ingredients. I always felt like the possibilities were endless. Regardless of how great my food was, she loved it anyway. She encouraged me to explore and said that I could do whatever I set my mind to. No matter what we did, it seemed as if we couldn't go

Late one August night way past my bedtime, My two Cousins and I were on the living room floor trying to pick out a scary movie. Then I saw my stepmom walk outside. I heard my Dad snoring and my little sisters were all sleeping.

Food constantly is encountered dozens of times within a single day. Each of these encounters poses and opportunity to taste something that may alter one’s taste buds forever, leave someone coming back more often than they would probably hope, and creating memories and bonds subconsciously. The memories of my childhood are linked together like chains by events all seemingly incorporated or dedicated to eating a meal. Whether it is recalling holiday feasts, causal rides to our garden, or stopping by a local fresh baked café, all of it left fond times and experiences that all came to a halt when my culture and home moved Europe. Assimilating was not a difficult process, but there are frequent days when I recollect on my roots and the traditions

Today’s breakfast is different: there’s scrambled eggs with tomatoes, peppers, spinach, and cheese, bacon and sausage, a blueberry muffin, and orange juice. I try to savor it, but my excitement and anxiety about today cause me to eat quickly, bite after bite.