Personal Narrative: Why Do I Have To Be Different?

There are many ways One’s identity can be defined. Only you can truly define who you are. You control what your experiences and influences make of you. When asked who am I, there could be millions of different answers depending on what you base your identity off of. To me, the question who am I, can only truly be answered in one way. So, who am I? For me, it’s an easy question. I’ve always known that I was the quiet girl In the back of the classroom by herself.

So then I go, and find Mrs. Price and tell her, ¨The red sweater wasn't mine. I knew adults weren't right all the time.¨ So I yell at the top of my lungs to Mrs. Price, ¨YOU BELIEVE ALL THE STUDENTS AND YOU ALWAYS YELL AT ME, I WISH YOU NEVER TEACHED HERE, I JUST WANT TO PUNCH YOU IN THE FACE.” Then Mrs. Price tells me to go to the office. So I stomp my feet on the floor ,and go to the office. When I get into Mr. BobbyJoe’s office i talk to him and tell him what had happened. He says to me, “Now Rachel I know how you feel if I were you I would do the same thing. So what i want you to do is to go and tell Mrs. Price your sorry while I go and call your parents then come back.” So I go back to the class room and tell Mrs. Price that I was

Dan threw his backpack in the back seat of Phil’s seat, plopping down in the front seat and slamming the door. “Dan, what’s wrong? Why did you ask me to pick you up?” Phil was concerned.

What defines me is my drive to help people, and the adrenaline and mental high I get from doing it. I can accredit this to my Aunt Rhonda who was a Emergency Medical Technician (EMT) During my early childhood. I remember her letting me sit on her lap after she got back from a long weekend of volunteering, and me marveling over her stories of the shift. By the time I got to elementary school, I had started carrying extra band-aids in my backpack so as to save the life of a possible wounded classmate. When I got into middle school, I was familiar with the first responder standards of care and had my own basic medical bag. I spent my weekends reading “Grey's Anatomy” and watching endotracheal intubation demonstrations on youtube instead of doing my homework. But everything I

What is identity? Identity to me is how someone views themselves as well as how they

“WHAT DID I DO” I’m screaming in my head from a fight, like when you're innocent when a crime happens and ask questions and keep pushing.When they bring you to a cold investigation room,with one desk,chains,and a one sided glass window.This was the end of a friendship,mine,a friend who is now not.The girl who is beautiful,beautiful ombre hair,smart,funny,her name was Hannah and then me,who has blonde/brown hair,blue ocean eyes,and no glasses or anything.This is what i did,what she did,what we did.This is how i dealt with it,it will get easier.

The majority of people find it natural to separate what they believe from who they are as an individual. They are able to draw conclusions from what they believe to be true about the world and have separate experiences that they allow to define them. However, I am very intentional about not allowing experiences to define what I believe to be true or allow it to carry much weight in defining me as an individual. In a perfect world, I would rather allow my experiences to be an expression of what I believe.

she was. Once, everyone was awake and dressed at 8 o'clock we went over to the main lodge to find our friends Chris and Lynda Schatz, with their friend Tim Isbell already eating. It seems that it’s always a buffet here with the same thing as yesterday, but there was hash brown shredding's instead of squares, and I once again had cinnamon rolls, apple juice and bacon, excluding biscuits because they were just nasty. We ate our breakfast and chit chatted, but while we were doing that the weather turned nasty, and the wind was howling much more than it had yesterday.

Have you ever actually tried locating a needle in a haystack? It’s an exasperating task, I assure you. Sometime back in the fifth grade, I was spending a day at my close friend Tyler Clarke’s farmhouse property, emptying soda can after soda can, wreaking havoc on the woodlands surrounding the barn, and terrorizing his sister’s prized horses in our sugared up state. Typical irresponsible schoolboy stuff. Polar opposites, no other term could be used to describe Tyler and me. Ordinarily, I was a timid, small-statured

I’d like to say good afternoon, (or whatever time of the day it is), basically I just want to explain myself a little bit; just the part why I am so nice. If you really do not care it is alright with me, just stop reading here, I completely understand if you do. To get back on topic, let’s start with one of the biggest misconceptions, the reason why I’m so nice. It is simply because it’s the way I was raised. I was told to be nice to mostly everyone, due to the fact that you don’t know what is going on in their life. The other reason is that I hate seeing others having a bad day. It’s just my personality. I’m not being nice because I think your daughter is a “catch”, I’m being nice because it’s just the way I am. Then the other side

Throughout my life I have learned that you should never lie, cheat steal, and to never be a coward. What I notice if you don't do any of these things you are counted as a nice and trusting person. Also when you do those things you get an awful pit in your stomach. This automatically makes me realize that doing this is wrong. My reasoning for know it wrong is because of it harms another or yourself it is automatically wrong. That if you are fine with doing these thing then people view you as untrustworthy and not someone they would want to be around and be friend.

Where I come from I was considered different. Different from everybody else and that is not always a nice feeling when it is attached to being strange or almost alien like. But that is what I felt like for a great part of my life. When teachers in school told the class to write a little bit about themselves or to apply for a job and the job application asks the same question a big part of my answer in my head was you won't like me because I am different.

As I walked into the gym my heart was pounding out of my chest. Yes, I’ve played volleyball before, but not in two-whole-years. Everyone was already better than me when I played before. Now not playing for two years, they’ve only gotten better and I just got worse. Let’s be real I can’t even jump and touch over the net.All the other girls played club, I only ever dreamed of being good enough to make a good club team. I had a difficult decision to make, try and fail or not try at all.

I was lying on a table in a dark hospital room. The only light was that which penetrated its way through the cracks under and above the door, and the dim light that came from the ultrasound screen. It was your traditional hospital room, only much smaller. The floor was linoleum tile, the walls white but unseen in the darkness. At the foot of the bed stood my husband, and to my side the tech who was performing the ultrasound. As the wand glided over my belly, I saw the look of pride on my husband’s face and the look of concentration on the doctor’s face both slowly change into looks of shock.

As soon as I pulled up to the location of the party, I could feel the vibrations of the music being played. I was finally ready to let loose and have a blast for the first time in the past four years. I had spent my entire high school career focusing on my grades, the tests, and all of the essays. With school getting out in a week, I decided to let loose. I was determined to make this party, an extraordinary experience. Deep down I knew this night was going to be unforgettable.