Personal Narrative

I find myself looking over my shoulder every time I step outside my front door. Violence has opened my eyes and destroyed my dreams of peace. When I first moved to Philadelphia from Puerto Rico, I moved into a neighborhood that was full of gangs and drugs. Philadelphia represented a new start, a chance for me to breathe again. I had experienced a tragic shooting right before my ten year old eyes in Puerto Rico; my mom’s best friend was killed, while the murderer calmly walked away. We escaped to Philadelphia, and I thought my days of witnessing horrific violence were over. However, my dreams were shattered like gunshots in the night. One day, while I was napping, I was awoken by a series of deafening pops. As soon as I heard them, I dropped

This example, although only one of many, shows what the struggles of war can do to a person. Whether it be through the loss of family or home, refugees run the risk of losing themselves in the thick fog of confusion and struggles as they deal with war and fleeing their homes. However, war is not the only factor that can cause refugees to lose themselves. Even once they find home, they struggle to find themselves in the overwhelming tide of a new culture and people. “Both refugee and immigrant children may encounter society’s discrimination and racism, and both have to

It was 2 a.m., and my father, mother, two siblings, and I were headed home after an exhausting night of celebration. My father was driving and decided to use a shortcut to get home. When we were heading through an unknown neighborhood, I noticed something unusual: There were five black trucks parked in the middle of a driveway. As we headed closer, I heard my mother advise my father to turn around, but he did not listen. Then, I noticed that there were people standing in the street, and they were armed. I cried; I could not contain my instant

While on a school trip, I saw a small camp for refugees from Syria. It was absolutely heart wrenching. They lived in a shanty town and their clothing was old or secondhand from donations.While it was a brief encounter, the implications it had on me were enormous. My whole life had been full of privilege and low in strife. I always had clean clothing, food to eat, and a place to sleep. Right before I was at the camp, I was worried about whether or not I had time to stop to get coffee before I caught my connecting train. Seeing children half my age sick with debilitating diseases, and the overall standard of living, struck me in a way I didn’t, or couldn’t, understand if I didn’t see it in person. It opened my eyes to how grateful I am to live in America; and how lucky I am that my mom immigrated from the Phillipines, in the hopes that she would have a better

Tuesday, March 6th, 2018 at approximately 4:30 p.m., I Detective L. Donegain was contacted by Sergeant P. Orellano in-reference to a possible overdose at 415 Tradewinds Drive apartment B, Fayetteville, North Carolina 28304. I was advised Patrol Officers were on scene and standing by.

The most important game of the year was coming up and I was ready. Everything was going perfect for me, because I was the starting QB as a freshmen at Englert High School. We were playing Joston High School the number 1 team in the nation since 1960, it was going to be a tough game because they had the number 1 ranked defense, but we had the best offense. The day before the game was just a normal day I went to school and had football practice after school. A couple weeks ago one of the other teams that we had played earlier in the year wanted another game so we decided to play them. They had been the hardest team we had played all year, we had only beat them by a last efforts field goal it hardly went in as it bounced in off the crossbar.

When I was younger I had always been described as mature. Although I wasn’t anywhere near being “mature”, it was a word always used to describe me, well-mannered and mature. While my brother was goofy and social, I was shy and serious. We were twins yet total opposites. As a child, because that was the word almost always associated with me, it crae unusual, almost toxic idea about myself. I had to be mature to be what people liked about me. So, it never occurred to me to be able to not take myself seriously and say something like “Oops that was dumb” and laugh it off. For some reason that didn’t make sense to me to say silly things like that.

Put simply, my parents are Bosnian refugees and are victims of genocide, and the displacement that the aforementioned genocide caused. They came to the United States with whatever money they could earn, and a few material items. My father came with something similar to a Shop-Rite bag that contained a pair of sneakers, a photo of his family at a picnic, and a grand sum of seven dollars. My mother came here with a suitcase with a couple t-shirts and photos of her family. Both left everything that they have known behind, have sacrificed a part of themselves, and saw horrors no one should have to endure. America was the helping hand, the land of opportunity-a city upon a hill. Within a few years of adjusting to their new environment, my parents met, fell in love, and soon enough I came into the world. A Bosnian-American I am, and forever will be.

I arrived at practice with my shoes laced, hair pulled back, and the mindset that I was unstoppable. I could play against every member of my team and come out the victor on any given day. It was the first day of practice that week, and challenge matches were scheduled to begin. The team went through our daily shuffle of drills, conditioning, and running to prepare for what was lying ahead. While warming up with my friends, I felt great, talking about homecoming, boys, and a variety of irrelevant events. I felt ready. The odds were in my favor and nobody could stop me.

It was near the end of my 8th grade school year, about 2 month away from graduation, when something I never expected to happen actually happened. This event really changed my life forever and shaped me into who I am as a person today. I had just arrived at my house after school when my parents received a call that my grandma was ill and that we should come down to check on her. As we rushed down to my grandparents house, my family was deeply concerned about what may have happened because my grandma had never really had many health issues before this. As we arrived at their house and walked through the door, we were greeted with the sight of my grandma sitting in a chair with a blanket around her while she was sleeping. My family’s first reaction

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

This post was probably my worst semester of college and I have no excuse for how things turned out with my classes. I'm not going to blame my job or my home life as it was me who failed and I have no one else to point the finger at. I had tried to pass the remedial math course five times previously and I started to lose hope that this one course would hold me back from finishing school. This hopelessness carried into my other courses because at the time I truly believed it was pointless to try in other courses if I can't pass this class that's been haunting since I started attending college.

dear Sean I'm going to start off by saying that I hope I do this letter in the correct format, I did not get much background informations on what this was supposed to all include. but that's okay I'll give it my best shot but with that said I'm not I'm not sure if it'll just being you hearing the this or if it will be read aloud in your tool group I decided that I'm going to write this as if only you are are going to be hearing this. anyways let's get this started you know how much trouble I my emotions at least my emotions that weakness is paper is difficult for me to do simply because I hate showing people my emotions because I hate others being in my business and I'm always so worried about others judging me but with that said for

I woke up. Feeling groggy, I went to take my pills. Being the way my brain was, I needed pills to function. I see things, but others don’t see them. These things, they are right in front of my face, but they are not visible to other people. I could not find my pills, I looked everywhere, even in my drug stash. They were not there. Wait, I sold them to Angelo. Well, remembering this, I need to go to the drug store.

Racing at night going One-hundred and forty miles an hour on US-27 holding the lead, Shift six gear, speed topped out at two-hundred miles per hour passing by cars smoothly. I chanted I am immortal, I am a god! while I pushed my sports bike to its limit. Suddenly a black car approaches. WHAM! I get Rammed from behind and lose control of my bike slamming into a Semi-truck up ahead. Lights out. When I peeked my eyes, I saw 4 humans around me. Thump after thumb I believe I was in an ambulance rushing down the turnpike. I looked around and the first words that came to my head are “Rick this is just a dream”. This is the story of how I escaped from an illegal laboratory that clones and modifies humans.