Relationships-Personal Narrative

For the first ten years of my life, I had a very normal childhood. I went to a private catholic school in a small town called Westwego. We were about twenty five minutes south of New Orleans. During the summers, friends and family would come over to our house and we would all swim and boil seafood. The summer of 2005 was no different; I was looking forward to entering 5th grade. Fast forward to one week before school is about to start when Hurricane Katrina formed in the Atlantic Ocean. Hurricanes were no strangers to us as we have been through several throughout the years. However, a few days later the storm is upgraded to a Category 3 and is predicted to hit New Orleans dead on. My parents felt it was time for us to leave and we traveled

It was a cold day in November as I scampered out of my Biology class, unsatisfied with the grade that I had received on my exam. I rushed to the basement of my campus’s athletic facility brimming over with frustration and quickly tossed aside my school supplies in exchange for a pair of soccer cleats and goalkeeper gloves. I threw over my grass-stained gray cotton sweatshirt, stepped outside to the bite of an approaching winter and joined my comrades in our warm-up lines. The boys were all laughing and talking about what happened over the weekend as we prepared for another practice. Being surrounded by my teammates made me forget about my worries and allowed me to disappear into the routine of physical activity. My collegiate varsity soccer

My pursuit of Kelly began almost a year before we met. I was at one of my best friends Ryan's house and I noticed Kelly's picture was on their wall. Immediately I asked Ryan's girfirend, Rugila aka Roo, every question she would tolerate to answer.

Elizabeth is sitting in the living room on the couch in her pajamas. The lights are dim and low and papers are scattered around her. The home is silent except for her fingers tapping away at the keyboard and the occasional shuffling of paper work. A notification sound comes from the computer. Elizabeth leans in and stares at the screen with her eyebrows crumpled as she reads. She leans back and her face becomes blank as she stares off into the distance. She closes the laptop, stands up and goes into the bedroom. As she approaches the bedroom door she reaches up to the top of the doorframe, grabs and object and puts it into the pocket of her pajama pants. Elizabeth enters the bedroom, climbs onto the bed, brings her knees to her chest, wraps

The bright white screen fills the room as I hold the remote up to the TV. I flick continuously through the channels, hoping something will take my fancy. I pause on a breaking news story. The voice of a woman fills the air as she explains. ‘A runaway escapee and murderer last seen heading towards the South end of Australia has disappeared. Anyone in the areas of’, I reach for the off button as the mumbles of voices drown out as the TV turns off. I put the remote down and shut my eyes. The dark patterns and swirls fill the darkness as I fill my mind with the endless possibilities from some of the deepest parts of my mind. I replay the series of my day over and over in my head. Replacing the mistakes in the day and presenting myself with what

The most powerful moment that has happened to me involving music happened in the middle of my seventh grade year. Prior to seventh grade, I played the violin but desired to learn the Double Bass. I asked a few times if I could switch instruments so that I could fulfil that desire, but my teacher always turned me down telling me that I should just stick with the violin, this of course made me devasted. Then the following school year, the teacher asked if anybody could play Bass because Alex (the bassist) had moved to a different school and we had only one bassist left in the orchestra and at that moment I got my chance to learn an instrument that I not only loved to hear, but also loved to look at, listen to and play. My teacher was skeptical

“So, uh, you’re not going to believe this.” These are the words I hear upon answering my phone. My friend continues, “I just dropped off my wife at work, and well, one tire is facing straight and the other one is not.” I get dizzy and my face lights up red as I hear the description of my car. My friend continues to stammer as he tries to explain what happened, but I don’t listen to any of it. I know that I’m getting the bill no matter what happened. “Well, have it towed to a shop.” I say, most likely interrupting his continued jabbering. “Call me when it’s there and I’ll take care of it.” This was not the first, or last, time that I had to make sure an unplanned event could be taken care of out of my pocket. In most people's lives there will

The sand is cold, the sky overcast, and the waves crash against the shore echoing harshly through my ears. I see clouds rolling overhead, I can smell the salt of the ocean, feel the texture of the sand, taste the electricity on the air and it all points to the coming storm. Is it real? Can anything be real when seen through someone else's eyes, felt through someone else's skin, tasted through someone else's tongue, Breathed through someone else's nose, heard through someone else's ears? This is what the world looked like to her, felt like to her, but what did it look like to me, feel to me? Was there ever a me or only this continually changing sculpture, patterns of a person and nothing more. I shivered as the cold air caressed the flesh I wore.

At this point it was halfway through the year of 2006, summer break had just begun. The third grade was a difficult school year, this year I was introduced to the End of Grade state exams. Nonetheless, I passed the third grade along with Ruby passing kindergarten. This year so far was already a fantastic year, and it was only about to become better. My family had discussed plans about this summer, it was going to be the best summer ever. This summer was packed with trips to public swimming pools, visiting our relatives, fishing at my grandparents, and our annual trip to the beach. On this warm, breezy evening in early June, eight-year-old me in this brand-new blue dress with two bright yellow bows with my sister, were in my parent’s bedroom

I woke up as usual a couple of years ago on September 20, I rubbed my tired eyes with my hands curled into fists. Uncovering my head from the large blanket I had, I was blinded by the brilliant light that hung above my head. A few moments later, after my eyes had adjusted, and my temporary blindness left me, I stumbled out of my bed and tripped to my closet, still dazed from just having woken up. Once I was ready I dazedly walked down the stairs, hanging onto the wooden rail tightly so I wouldn’t fall, though I almost fell more than a few times. My grandmother was sitting in her grey rocking chair, watching The walking dead, she heard me trip off the last step coming down the stairs and turned her head slightly to face me. She started to say

I understand and hold myself accountable for what I said. I feel bad and apologized. I may be reading things wrong but you give off an impression that you were totally in the right. If that’s how you truly feel than I really think that will become a serious problem in or relationship that we need to deal with sooner rather than later.

The fairy tales say that once upon a time a girl met a boy; they fell in love, and lived happily ever after. Reality is not that simple. Long-term relationships force couples to get to know each other, involve themselves in each others’ worlds, fight through the hard times, and eventually develop deeper connections through distinctive stages of Knapp’s relationship model. Although I have dated the same person for over two years, the stages of our communication make it seem as though I am now dating a different person following dissolution and subsequent repair. However, even the most exhilarating of roller coaster rides develop through a combination of ups and downs, much like the stages of a relationship.

I hugged Bruno, our bouncy boxer, goodbye as he headbutted me and doused my face with his sloppy, sandpaper tongue. Then I hugged Bruno’s sidekick, Edi, our just-as-bouncy Jack Russell Terrier. They didn’t know this would be the last moment we would be together for a long time.

Bright and early on my fifth birthday, my family and I uprooted our lives in Florida and traveled here to Georgia. Memories of Florida are hazy, but if I were to describe the past years here in Georgia in a single word, bold and in all caps would be the word “struggle.” We came here chasing a dream, the dream of a prosperous future in the booming automotive industry. Unfortunately that dream shattered to pieces, and like a barrier, we endured the shrapnel.

It’s almost like a fuzzy dream, it’s a clear blue afternoon and I’m riding in the back of an old pick up, through the golden hills of my hometown and looking up at my aunt who smiles down at me. Although, I don’t remember most of my childhood, this is a memory that makes it through the haze just enough to recall, that afternoon with one of my favorite people in the world, my Aunt Lisa.