The Statue Of Honor-Personal Narrative

Decent Essays
“Ladies and gentlemen, the Captain has turned on the Fasten Seat Belt sign…”

I put in my earphones and watched as the buildings turned into tiny dots and the land became then white clouds. My eyes began to feel heavy and I…

The sun beat down on us as we drew squares on the crumbed street and numbered them with the chalk we had stolen. We played with sticks and stones. Each day, our bodies grew, our minds expanded, the streets crumbled some more, but the chalk was always stolen and stones were always free. My mother’s cold palm gently woke me.

I stepped of the plane and stood in the suffocating humid breeze, listening to the hum of the rotors, debating the wisdom of running back into the plane and not coming out. I received unwanted
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Looking into the girl’s eyes’ I could see my mother. I remembered the nights where I lay in bed, listening to the sound of the fighting. My mother would shout, my father would yell back, and then screaming, and whimpering. I remembered how would bury my face into my pillow, hoping I could also bury the problems. My father’s new job in Australia was our ticket to a better life, although it meant leaving my best friend behind.
She looked at me with a familiar curiosity. She was shivering despite the weather and let out a mumble, “Hey.” Suddenly, the humid weather didn’t matter anymore. The crowded streets started to resemble those that I used to once know. I gestured her towards a nearby street stall.
“One coffee and roti please.”
She grabbed the roti, ripping a chunk off with her teeth, showing no pretentious manners. Watching her eat reminded me of when Yasheita and I combined what we had to buy some samosas and spring rolls. Despite the humid weather, we would both sit and eat the hot food, the only things we could afford at the time. Already this girl felt like a friend, someone I used to know.
Sitting there, with the girl, I felt at ease, like my past had finally caught up to me. I couldn’t feel the weather anymore, and I felt like the little six-year-old girl, eating samosas with my best friend.
The young girl reached for my hand and squeezed it in
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