Personal Narrative: What's Worth Remembering

Over my years of school, one big influence on me has always been sports. Ever since a young age, I have always enjoyed playing and watching sports. In my four years in high school, I have fell in love with the sport of lacrosse.

I woke up and took one bite out of my pop tart but that one bite was all I could eat. My legs were shaking, and my heart was pounding. My dad told me, “It is a true honor to even make it this far so go out there and have some fun.” Once I heard this statement, I knew I was ready to go. I arrived at school and boarded the bus. The car ride was an hour and fifteen minutes of hearing the squeaking of the wheel on the bus. My teammates were getting their heads ready for the big game.

Her father’s words echoed through her head as one might hear a reverberation throughout the Taj Mahal. Continuous. Chilling. Having no control to distill the wavelengths until they mellowed out on their own accord. She tried to anatomize the depth of his phrase, more than dutifully needed but Davina needed to know why. Why did she need to keep an open mind and more importantly, who the hell was about to come bursting through that door. But then again, did it really matter in the first place. When she thought about it, the brunette could have laughed at the idea. That an unattributed, faceless figure had her panties in a bunch. Surely Dominic wouldn’t think to waste her time with venial diversions,

In 2025, I will be twenty-nine years old and hopefully married. I will be married to my significant other of ten years Earnest Palmer III, who is a dentist. I would have been recently graduating with a bachelor’s in Culinary Arts and trying to plan to open my own restaurant, BubbaD’s Eateries. Knowing my big headed husband of mine, I probably had a baby then and trying to have another baby. Hopefully, by then Earnest will get rid of the idea naming our son, King. We will be living in the suburbs near New York City but working in the city. Being a woman with great memory, I probably wrote a memoir about my crazy life and trying to sell it to a publisher. If none of the publishers wants to publish my memoir, I will probably sell it the Lifetime

On February 27th, a plane heading to San Jose with five people on it suddenly crashed in southern California. The two houses it landed on immediately erupted into flames because of the jet fuel. Luckily, no one was in those houses, however three out of the five were killed on the plane, while the survivors just had injuries. The people on the plane had consisted of a husband, wife and three teenagers going home from a cheerleading competition at Disneyland Adventure Park. The competition is suspected to be the Jr. USA Nationals, but unfortunately will not be a celebration to them anymore. The names of the people have not been released at this moment. Many bystanders of the crash have taken to social media to share the horror of what has happened. Undoubtedly, the passengers will never be the same again.

Just so you know, this is the Big Apple and I rule this town. New York City is filled with tall buildings, great culture, and historical sites. No other city has so much beauty that it takes your breath away; yet, there is a real danger that lurks on the streets. I should know because I am Detective Michael Morgan a United States Super Spy in charge of capturing dastardly villains who are set on destroying our world. Armed with mind-altering powers, Alex Higgins is on the top of the FBI’s list of the ten most wanted men in America. This thug is one of the greatest danger to our world and must be captured and jailed in the vault of death. There is no place safe for him to hide from the law and rumor has it, he is in my town. You break the law here in New York City, you pay the ultimate price: freedom.

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.

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’m fairly new to the adult romance genre, and after reading a few that I adored I got a blogger friend of mine to give me some recommendations. On her list of recommendations for romances that are more rom-com was Melissa Foster’s The Real Thing. This was my first Melissa Foster book and I absolutely loved it! I’m so glad I decided to pick up this one as one of my first picks. he Real Thing takes place in a small town called Sugar Lake and features Zane and Willow who have a somewhat complicated history. I loved that they technically started out as friends and kept in touch all those years before getting together as it just made their chemistry and relationship all the more steamier and swoonier. And while the fake relationship trope was used

Having been on an eight hour road trip punctuated by outdoor camping, there are quite a few items that I ended up forgetting that ended up being monumentally useful. Others were just nice to have given the circumstances and in case anything unforseen occurred. In any case, having just a few of these items can help make sure your road trip is a good one.

My initial perceptions about the students of St. Angela were very stereotypical. Honestly, I expected those students to come from single parent backgrounds and come from a low income household. I expected to deal with students who live life in a survival type of manner. What I mean by survival type of manner is for one to be on defense seeing the type of the children are from the Austin area. Walking in to St. Angela I expected to deal with kids that didn’t listen and know respect for authority. I expected this due to my upbringing in the same neighborhood.

Recalling a time when I observed a negative action and could of done something about it was probably back in middle school. This event was when one individual was bullying a kid and talking in a negative manner to this certain individual and this cause one person to flip over a desk, but I was just a witness I would have stopped this by notify someone or telling the person to stop or calm down.

Reading over your discussion post I have to say I agree with you 100%. Especially when you stated “just because they saw “black” people does not necessarily mean they were from Africa”. My reasoning for agreeing with this statement is because people come in many different shades of colors what made him so sure that they were African? Like I mention in my initial post I believe that his whole theory was based off of assumption. I think if he would’ve had more concrete information it would be more than just a theory.

Need Recognition. When my car started to have many problems and it was no longer reliable, I knew I needed to get a new one. This would be considered safety needs on Maslow’s hierarchy as my car was old and no longer stable or reliable.

Lying in bed after a sleepless night, I had to find my inner strength and courage to overcome the sadness that would surely plague this day. What once belonged to him, and still holding the distinct scent of his cologne, I took the freshly pressed suit from the closet and drove to the church in a fog. It was a day that I had wished would never come. Holding the paper tight in my hand, I could feel my palms getting sweaty and my pulse starting to race. A still silence flowed through the room as I stepped up to the podium and took a minute to glance at all the somber people whose lives he touched. It was time to say goodbye to grandpa. Holding back tears and with my voice cracking, I started to read aloud the eulogy I had written last night: