...Personal Narrative Essay Title: “For Sale” Everyone knows that phrase: “The grass is always greener on the other side”. But as a child it was a hollow statement for me. Until the day I perceived it as my philosophy of survival. This story is of my purest memories following my relentless battles. Simplistic flashbacks of virtuous kids. Full of laughter and play with nothing to be feared except for the day’s end. All before the moment where the innocence was dissolved away by the acidic misfortunes of life. [a series of sentence fragments] To illustrate, the first setting in this world was in the town called “Ocala”. It was in South-central Florida, a place where nature thrived and creatures of all walks of life roamed. The most business we had there was a prison thirty miles away, and a Wal-Mart 30 miles further down the same road. So one would say it was pretty rural. Just a quaint ole town, where the trees outnumbered the people. My best friend Samantha and I loved the fact that we had mother-nature as our playground. Spending most of our waking moments playing in the open forests, we’d sneak around concocting strategic methods on how to collect lizards and insects, then place them in small decorated cages. Once we obtained our new pets, we would examine and befriend each one, always setting them free later. However, our nights were different, pictures were taken, video games were played and even dress up was included from time to time. Videogames helped enable our...
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...Personal Narrative Essay Title: “For Sale” Everyone knows that phrase: “The grass is always greener on the other side”. But as a child it was a hollow statement for me. Until the day I perceived it as my philosophy of survival. This story is of my purest memories following my relentless battles. Simplistic flashbacks of virtuous kids. Full of laughter and play with nothing to be feared except for the day’s end. All before the moment where the innocence was dissolved away by the acidic misfortunes of life. [a series of sentence fragments] To illustrate, the first setting in this world was in the town called “Ocala”. It was in South-central Florida, a place where nature thrived and creatures of all walks of life roamed. The most business we had there was a prison thirty miles away, and a Wal-Mart 30 miles further down the same road. So one would say it was pretty rural. Just a quaint ole town, where the trees outnumbered the people. My best friend Samantha and I loved the fact that we had mother-nature as our playground. Spending most of our waking moments playing in the open forests, we’d sneak around concocting strategic methods on how to collect lizards and insects, then place them in small decorated cages. Once we obtained our new pets, we would examine and befriend each one, always setting them free later. However, our nights were different, pictures were taken, video games were played and even dress up was included from time to time. Videogames helped enable our...
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...Spring should be a time of growth and warmth, but last spring it felt like everything I ever cared about came to a crashing halt. In March the air smelled of hopes and dreams, but I had none. I stopped believing everything that used to inspire me. I started questioning myself. I became my own problem; my biggest hindrance in getting myself to where I have always wanted to be. One day I went to PetSmart to look at the fish. I wandered aimlessly until I stopped in front of the tank of 20 cent comet goldfishes. Among the animated goldfishes there was one just floating on its side, clearly dead. But every now and then the wave of water from the pump going into the tank would lift the dead fish and make it “swim”, as if it was still alive. I thought about the fish and I thought about myself. The fish carried on swimming without actually living, just like how I carried on doing without actually believing. I could have continued that way, but I wanted to invest this short life I have in something I believe in. I had to find my meaning. I tried to make myself a math experiment, collecting my own data to see if I could extrapolate my own meaning. I compared what I liked with what I did and want to do, but in the end it made me even more confused about what truly drives me forward. Then, I turned away from science, I’m not an equation I can solve scientifically. I turned to art. I hadn’t picked up watercolours for years, but that spring I did. I painted a comet goldfish. It was swimming...
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...I can probably count on one hand the number of times I’ve been to the doctor simply because I wasn’t feeling well. For the most part, the only medicine I was ever given was a large dose of “I’m sorry, but get over it” from my father. In fact, pretty much every problem in my life I’ve been expected to just “get over”. Whether it be an actual physical illness or trouble in school, my family’s philosophy has always been to keep the ball rolling and things would work out in the end; which for the most part, they did. When I thought I was going to fail chemistry my sophomore year, I refocused, studied harder and earned an A. When I almost quit dance following my realization I wasn’t the best, I trained more and pushed myself to be better. But in...
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... As a little girl, I had always dreamt of being an older sister. I imagined helping feed, encourage walking, tutoring when they need help on their homework, and I even considered helping with diapers. But my single mother was busying herself with nursing school, her part-time job at Genie’s, and her full-time job of being a parent. Obtaining a younger sibling was next to impossible. So, I instead allowed my time to be filled with extra-curriculars: dance lessons, piano lessons, ice skating, and softball camp to name a few. My home remained to be filled only by my mother and myself until I was 14 years old. What once used to be a family of two, grew into a family of four- my mother, her husband, my new baby sister, and me. I was old enough to take on even more responsibilities that I was not prepared for. Before I knew it, I was left home alone with Allison, now about 12 months old. A full hour of screaming and crying tested my patience more than any other extra-curricular activity I had ever practiced. I had had my first babysitting experience and parenting lesson (on a minor scale of course). Like all things, as time went on and as she grew, the big sister role became less challenging as my patience grew and crying durations depreciated. Just as I was getting comfortable with my new role, my mother announced that she was once again expecting. Now, I was anticipating a little brother. I had grasped the basics of child care with my sister, but the early two year...
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...It's like mid-January, on a Saturday, I wake up about seven a.m. There's still snow on the ground from a few days ago. I eat a small breakfast of bacon, eggs, oatmeal, sausage, toast, fried potatoes, orange juice, cranberry juice, milk, and a glass of water. After my dad is done eating he says, “ great meal” After I'm done eating I go into the living room and sit on the couch my dad is sitting on the recliner, the TV is playing an old western and I pick a backwoods men, and read some interesting articles. Once my stomach is settled me and my brother get in my truck and go to my great grandfather's old farm we walk down the creek and go to an old creek crossing and we check our beaver tracks. After that we head to the rest of our traps, hopefully, we catch some. By now it's about noon so we head home to get some dinner, the table has steak, beans, rolics, cheesy green beans, deviled eggs, coconut cream pie, and sweet tea. Right after the meal my dad says, “ well, that was a mighty fine meal” after go and sit on the couch. After my nap, I go outside and my dad signals for me to get in the truck. We head down to our river farm and cut up some of the hedgerow. After an about four hours i'm covered in sawdust and dirt, we head home and work in the shop for an hour. After that, I grab my sled, camping bag, and a gun, and I hop on my ATV. I head up to a hill that we like to call deer hill. I start a campfire and crack open a can of beans, I put them on the fire. Then head down...
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...“Seeing is deceiving, dreaming is believing, it’s okay not to be okay”. A lyric the 13 year old version of myself fell in love with. When i was growing up, i struggled with self-image, and self-love. In order for me to cope, i went to music. Music is such a huge part of my daily life. In 2013 i was watching one of my favorite shows, The Voice. A young girl came on to perform a song for her audition. She performed a song that would touch my heart forever. I heard Jessie J’s “Who You Are” for the first time in 2013. The girl performing the cover of the song later came to confess she had been dealing with image, self harm, and depression. The power and emotion Jillian Jensen delivered gave me chills all over my body and showed all the colors behind the darkness she held within herself, i felt that. The judges of the show felt it, audiences felt it. So when i heard this heart warming record, it gave me hope, it gave me a sense of power, and independence. The song goes through many different internal battles that i believe young adults, primarily females, go through on a daily basis. There are so many young females out here these days, that are yearning to be somebody. Jessie J says “sometimes it’s hard to follow your heart, tears don’t mean you’re losing, everybody’s bruising. just be true to who you”. That lyric is meaningful because everybody want’s to be somebody that they aren’t. Everybody lets their minds control their actions. There are situations in life where following your...
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...I never would have imagined there was any meaningful connection between neuroscience and music; that is, until, a couple classmates and I played a little ear-training game during guitar class. “Sing an E-natural,” I demanded. (There’s no way they won’t be able to guess this, I thought.) They all sang an E-flat. I froze momentarily. Without stopping to correct them, I selected different note. “Sing a B-flat,” I ordered. …Still they were a half-step off. I audaciously plucked a B-flat on my guitar, just to showcase that they were off-key. “But they all sound the same to me,” one girl asserted; the rest agreed correspondingly. “How in the world can they not hear the difference?” I asked myself. To me, hearing B-flat and B-natural was like night and day! Each pitch had its own distinct personality, color and quality that I couldn’t unhear. It was unimaginable for me to visualize music any other way. After a great deal of thinking, I approached the teacher about my predicament. “You have perfect-pitch!” he blurted with excitement. “Only one in every ten thousand people has it!” “One in ten-thousand? You mean not all musicians are capable of this?” I asked, eyebrows raised. “Indeed.” He replied. “It’s something you’re born with. You can’t develop perfect-pitch.” Something was terribly off. I knew for a fact that at one point I was incapable of doing what I can do today. I knew I had listened to music as a child, unable to identify its key signature – then suddenly it dawned...
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...complexity of natural textures, the waves, kinks, and curls occupying the scalp can be manipulated in various ways. Protective styling, Bantu knots, two strand twists and perm rods all produce different outcomes. How a community of women, raised in different regions and familial backgrounds have collectively experienced the same fight is what interests me the most and continues to be the reason why I lose track of time. There is so much to learn and the natural hair community not only strives to learn how to embrace our natural textures, but to grow as individuals and inspire those around us. Life does not come without challenge, we all must struggle to ultimately achieve our goals, whether they are long-term or short-term. Challenging my personal beliefs on natural hair and learning to embrace what I was born with has led to a new mindset. I have inspired and challenged the beliefs of other black women and I can now say I am proud to wear my natural curls. ...
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...I had sorted through the piles of stuff on my floor. I was cleaning my room and had large stacks of books and other things strewn across my bedroom floor. I had been rearranging my book shelves and had stumbled across my old postcard album. My postcard album was a regular photo album, but instead of putting pictures in it, I had filled it with postcards. I paged through the book, remembering all of the places I had been. A postcard from Sanibel Island caught my eye. I remembered when I was in Florida I wanted to collect shells, so I woke up early in order to get to the beach. I remembered the beach. The ocean was peaceful and the seagulls ruffled their feathers in the wind. It was so peaceful and pristine. The sun had not risen yet, so I just...
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...¨Prom is only two weeks away and I still don't have a date!¨Yamelis said to her best friend as she went around scrambling for a date. Everyone seemed to have a date except for her. She was discouraged. Yamelis thought who would ever want to go to prom with her. All the boys went for the pretty and popular girls, not her. Yamelis was at her locker brainstorming how she would ask out the love of her life Joseph. She had the biggest crush on him ever since he picked up her pencil in science class. She was so stressed! She looked over and spotted Joseph with a bunch of girls surrounded by him. She had no possible chance of even going to prom with him afterall. Later that day, Yamelis finally got the courage to ask him. She started searching for him and all of a sudden, Yamelis felt a blindfold wrapped around her face, and two hands grabbing both of her arms. She panicked! Within seconds she was brought out to the playground. She took off her blindfold and in front of her wasn’t Joseph, who she hoped to see, it was Jason holding a “Will you got to prom with me?” poster. “So will you?” Jason asked. “Umm… Can I get back to you on that?” Yamelis responded even though in her mind she knew exactly who she really wanted. “Yes my darling take your time beautiful.” Jason responded. Next Arian asked her to prom. That was the second guy! She felt wanted for once. They were both good guys which made her decision even harder. All week both guys have been trying to win her over. Arian bought...
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... A Week Have you ever been really passionate about something you really love, and you never want to stop doing it? Well, a 10 year old girl named Jamie really loved dancing. When she was dancing, she felt amazing. The whole world was perfect, except, for one little problem, she had to stop. For 2.567348 weeks to be exact! Actually only 2 and ½. It all started a couple weeks ago when she was dancing. As the beats and rhythms moved her into a heavenly world, she could not focus on anything-even if she had the worst pain in her life, she wouldn’t know- except what beat was coming up next. The music stopped and she quickly returned to the speaker to change it, but soon after stopped. She went and sat down after realizing that a dull pain was slowly getting worse in her right heel. She went upstairs to inform her mom-Angy-about the pain. ”Mo-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-om-”Each step getting louder-”my foot hurts!”, Jamie said frustrated because she had to stop dancing. ”What?”, her mother inquired.”My foot hurts.”, she repeated herself ,” and it won’t stop.” each word angrier than the other.”Well then wait a little and if it still hurts, ice it.” Angy used to be a medic in the US Army, so Jamie trusted her. A little after 15 minutes, Jamie’s foot still hurt. She decided to ice it, which of course still hurt because it was so cold. It got a little better but still hurt, so her mom agreed to rub her heel. It started feeling a little better so Jamie immediately went back to dancing until...
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...Every Sunday at my house, I help my mother cook for the family and we have a family dinner all together. This one Sunday in December I felt kind of woozy and went to my room to lie down for a bit. It didn’t help, and in fact that woozy feeling stayed with me for almost 4 months. That night my mom took me to the IN and OUT clinic in Lufkin. I did a bunch of balance tests and was relieved by the doctor’s diagnostic that I was not suffering from a stroke. The dizziness feeling was worse when I moved too quickly or was doing too much activity. The worst part was the fact that my memory started getting worse and worse. When I read my text, social media or my homework assignments I couldn’t understand what was going on. I understood a single word by its self but not the whole context of the full sentence. And then there were the migraines. I had on average three per week, plus a constant achy feeling in the back of my head. Looking back later, I realized later that headaches and the ringing in my ears, had actually started earlier. Other things that happened included forgetting people’s names and the numbness in my hands and feet got pretty severe. And all the time, I was exhausted. I had to figure out how much to say to which people about my situation before I figured out what was going on with me. I had to make the decision early on that I wouldn’t bother trying to explain my situation to temporary acquaintances. I would just try to pass as a normal person, even though I was far...
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... I sat in the waiting room of the hospital, tapping the fingers on my right hand nervously against the arm of the chair, my left hand held my chin in the form of a fist. The room smelled like cleaning chemicals and lemons, I sat there for a few minutes until the door squeaked open, and a short brown-haired nurse popped her head out of the door. “Jamie, Jamie Scott the doctor will see you now,” the nurse said in a soft, gentle voice. I immediately jumped out of my chair, grabbed my bag and followed closely behind her. She led me down a hallway to a small room, opened the door and I stepped in. She held the door open for a few seconds as I sat down on the long white bed lined with paper that krinkled underneath me. “The Doctor will be in in a second, okay?” She told me this time seeming distracted by something, but I just ignored it. “Okay, thank you,” I whispered nervously. I sat in the room, rubbing my hand back and forth, up and down my arm, even with the slightest movement the paper crinkled. I hated the sound it made so I tried to stay as still as possible. Five minutes later I heard a slight knock on the door and it slowly swung open followed by the footsteps of a tall doctor walking into the room, “It’s so nice to meet you Jamie,” he exclaimed. As he offered me his hand, I shook it and replied sheepishly “It’s nice to meet you, too” “What seems to be the problem today?” the Doctor asked. “I’ve been sick for a while, and I’ve had pain in my chest, along with dry coughing...
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...My teacher told me about an essay due Monday on Friday, today is Sunday and I'm just getting started. It's time to satisfy my curiosity and try writing while my thoughts are set free. After a few rips of the bong, I'm already writing jotting things here and there completely unorganized. But it doesn't get to me, I keep writing idea's thoughts and memories down until I have a few pages of inclusions for the Essay. Next step is to pull things together and polish it. I start it off with the first time I had ever smoked and ended up in some pretty crazy places. Right when I finish the paper it clicks In my head. Everything I have ever though about writing and essays and school changed because of pot. I have a 4.0 and a new passion for the styles of writing. I am realizing that I can get used to this. Putting everything on paper and pulling it together to be meaningful is a new pastime. I can further relate to Toni Morrison in The Dancing Mind when he says, "[reading is] to experience one's own mind dancing with...
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