The Drowned-Personal Narrative

Have you ever had something so scary you just stayed there frozen, while this is the story of that happening to me. #Its starts with me being super happy about snorkeling in the line waiting with my family and other people at Disney World. The people in front of us were talking about stuff, but at first I wasn’t listening.

It was sometime around 6:00 p.m. on a Thursday night in the middle of January 2016. There was a swim meet going on and it was just about to start. The teams were warming up and getting ready for the meet that was due to start in the coming hour. I was warmed up and concentrating on the race listening to music in my newly acquired platinum studio beats. The music was loud and the nerves were setting as I walked into the locker room with my friend and teammate. As we passed I said good luck to our teammate who I was racing against in the 200 free style. Then out of know were he pulled my friend to the side and whispered something in his ear. I didn’t hear what was said as I had continued to walk. My friend came over to me and I asked what he had said and he told me. He told me

In Drown, a collection of short stories, author Junot Diaz presents readers with an impoverished group of characters through harsh, but vivid language. Through the voice of Yunior, the narrator throughout the majority of the stories, Diaz places the blame for Yunior’s negativity and rebellious nature on the disappointment caused by his father and the childhood illusion of America. Diaz, through language and symbolism, forces readers into an emotional bond with Yunior while exposing the illusory nature of the American dream. Although intertwined with each story, “Fiesta, 1980” allows for a more concise discussion of Diaz’s purpose. Diaz’s language, even at first glance, appears very different from conventional authors:Mami’s younger

On September 1, 2012, I walked into my fifth grade teacher’s classroom for the first time in my life. Mrs.Cullen was standing in the front of the door with open arms ready to welcome her new fifth grade students. As I made my way to my desk and sat down next to Charlie Schutt and Quin Timmerman, I got the feeling that middle school would be a time of talking to some of my best friends and cruising through classes. As the school year progressed, and classroom seats changed, my thought of how Middle school would be changed as well. On the first day Mrs.Cullen explained our schedule, Homework detentions, and demerits. After about fifty questions, she sent us off to our first class, and the first step of our Middle School journey. The fifth grade

I am known to be extremely clumsy. With that, it’s expected that I often end up in awkward situations. In the past I have called numerous teachers “Mom,” fallen down while walking up stairs, almost fallen off a cliff; and it can be assured there were many more instances where my embarrassing clumsiness had led me into awkward, sometimes life threatening, situations. One moment that stands out in particular takes place in every marine animal welfare activists’ “favorite” place, Sea World.

Studies have shown that dual language students perform higher than any other group of students; however, I personally, do not feel that way. I came from the Spanish immersion program. The program has always made learning the rules of English difficult to comprehend and remember. Despite that, my love for reading and writing in English has never been deterred. As a child, my favorite book was Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs by Judi Barrett. It was primarily my favorite because it was the first book I read be myself. That book also opened my mind to a broader world of thinking and creativity at the tender age of 4. I mean who knew that orange juice could fall from the sky, and giant pancakes could immobilized cities? I certainly could not

Maria woke up and thought to herself, I need a change. Something adventurous. Maybe I’ll go to that strange lake I saw. It sure is hot today. And I think I deserve the rest since papa made me work so hard yesterday. With that in mind, she slipped on the worn ruffle dress her sister had passed on to her three years ago. Maria missed her sister, Margarita. Margarita had died many many years ago, at the young age of nine. Seeing that Maria possessed a petite figure, and that Margarita was abnormally tall, Margarita gave the young Maria the dress as a birthday gift. The story goes, Margarita and three toddlers named Juan, José, and Alejandro were playing in the dirt when their mother came up to them and yanked them as hard as she could. You see, her husband had been gone for longer and longer trips out west at a time, and only came back

Memorial pool smell the chlorine lots of yelling. Life guards lots of steam lots of heat. I smell the chlorine right when I enter the. Memorial pool and feel the heat and see the steam. As I get out of the locker room I can already hear the life guards yell.

My tone toward the subject is confused and guilty while my attitude is more hopeful. My tone is displayed when I use a metaphor to say that “I’m drowning in a sea of disappointment”, it shows that that the guilt is consuming me. My attitude is more hopeful because I say that “they were manipulated”, so they might not recognize what they do. I would show examples of what I did like “refuse to speak in their native tongue”. After each example I would say “Was this their dream” to display my confusion and guilt I had when I did not meet their expectations. I repeated that question often, I did this so that they audience would understand the effect that these “dreams” or expectations had on me. Throughout the poem I use the word “dream” often

My head slowly angled down at the murky brown water reflecting the bright sun as It flowed downstream. “Come on you pussy”, I heard from below. From then on, and for these three words, my fate would be decided, On that day about four years ago, i would know what fear feels like, and how confidence can change your life.

Darkness overpowers the room, except for the light beaming in around the shades. The rush of the water comforts the undesired awakening of the peace of night. The shades open, and now light floods in. The beauty of the evergreen trees and decaying bamboo sit perched on the windowsill. The white acrylic room accompanied by diverse accents glistens in the new daylight.

Tonight’s towering rain drowned out the footsteps. Those rushed, stumbling footsteps that resemble the agility of a drunken soccer mom on a rough night. I’ve grown to love them throughout the years really, and was almost disappointed in the weather taking that away from me. No matter, professionally speaking it helped the whole ordeal go smoothly along. It’s honestly a rare treat to get off this easily, most of the time I have to get others involved and it’s all just a mess the officers gotta clean up in the morning. No one wants that, do they? So generally, the rain was a blessing in this jumble of sin.

I stare out at the ocean to find complete silence, and a raft moving only with the wind. I cant figure out why it so much more peace full now then it was before, except for the fact that there are no more sharks surrounding us. A wave of reality hits me, there is nothing peaceful about this at all. The ocean may glisten in the day, and the stars may sparkle in the night, but we were potentially being pushed to our deaths. Suddenly a shark lunges for my head, in one swift movement I put my hands in front of my face and hit the shark in the snout with all the force I can exert. Another emerged from the water, I was prepared for this one with an oar in hand. I see a oar swing out of the corner of my eye. Yet another shark, the sharks were

It was a long time ago. I was hoping it would never have happened again. I should have when we went into the water. It was as big as the submarine that we were in. It was probably even bigger then our submarine.Gulp is the sound my throat made when I swallowed my water. I was really thirsty from the night. I do not know why yet but it got super hot in my little cubie. I fell off my bed with a loud thud. That is what awoke me. That is when it happened I realized that the ship was sinking. That is when I knew there was no hope for me. I gave up with hope that someday someone will carry on my legacy with catching the beast.

13 years. It has been 13 years since I first plunged into the pool to begin my first lesson. I was small, skinny, and shy at the time, not willing to talk to people. I had tried other sports; baseball, soccer, basketball, but I found those to difficult. My dad first brought me to a pool, to splash around in the play area. But I soon found myself wanting to go the deeper parts where the whirlpool and the lazy river were. So I began group lessons on the basics on how to swim, most of the other participants were older than me so I did not make conversation with them. After I finished a couple of lessons and learned how to swim the most basic two strokes; freestyle and breaststroke, I joined a summer team, the Bradley Farm Wave. I was not very