Personal Narrative Essay

Walking into the auditorium for my first audition in high school, my mind raced with fears and anxieties. I auditioned with a group of friends for the production of In the Heights. Immediately, I realized the high school’s drama program differed greatly from the middle school’s. The directors expected the students to prepare their song ahead of the time. My group had little to no preparation; It was the definition of “winging it.” When returning home, I began brainstorming other after school activities I could join because of the poor performance my group and I put on. Shockingly, I made the show and every show since. That moment changed my life for the better. Freshman year I was a shy, insecure student afraid of socializing with the others. Today, in my senior year, I am no longer that person. I am a confident young

All you need in life is faith, family, and friends. I even consider all my friends family, so you need faith and family. I'm so blessed to have an awesome family. More importantly, I'm blessed to know an awesome God.

Auditions for the spring production of The Sound of Music quickly approached. My vocal chords did not understand the importance of that audition to me and refused to overcome my laryngitis. Rehearsing multiple times a day, drinking lemon tea with throat coat and Ricola, putting myself on vocal rest, I made every effort necessary to prepare. The day of auditions, I avoided all dairy and caffeine. After school, I nervously traversed the halls toward the choir room, every note of "That's Rich" from Newsies ringing through my head. Competitors passed audition forms throughout the room, and my hand deftly filled out the familiar paper.

The score was 40-30, last point of the tie-breaker set. This was everything I had been training so hard for, everything I looked forward to, everything that would make me happy. As I stood across the court holding my racket out waiting for my opponent to serve the ball, my legs struggled to maintain themselves straight. The racket grip felt like it would slip from my hands as the sweat dripped down my arms and hands.

When I was younger I was a killer. My mother would walk the aisles of the grocery store searching for our prey. She would single out the biggest in the pack, feel for the most tender, and strike. She’d fight with the other hunters for ownership of the animal, throw them in her cart, and carry it home to her young. Unlike the normal hunter, we had to prepare for our feast. With the meat in the center of our table surrounded by asparagus, mashed potatoes, and gravy, we prepared to pounce. “You may now eat”. Everyone grabbed and clawed for their piece. Snarling and refusing to talk, we shoved the mighty kill in our mouths. We were merciless. Our feast was over just as fast as it had begun. We wiped our mouths and put our murder utensils in the dishwasher, hoping to hide what had been done. The night continued casually, as if nothing wrong had been done.

Growing up, I had a lot of amazing people to look up to, including my father. He was my hero and was always encouraging me to push myself and try new things. My father was in the military for many years and was a drill sergeant, so he was very good at persuading people to do things, my six year old self included. He taught me many lessons in life and has helped me grow as a person.

Ally’s family is very wealthy but, their money couldn’t help her father’s sickness, he died in 1947. Her mother remarried to a rich man that had a daughter of his own. Ally was sure that her stepsister Ally hated her guts she just didn’t know why. Ally hated that her mom had to choose a man with so much money because it felt like he was trying to buy their love.

The moment I knew I was no longer a child was a regular day. I was driving to work in a car that I had changed the oil in. It was with the knowledge that I had turned in a major essay for my linguistics course at a local college. My mind recently had been wondering when I could start filing my taxes. I live by the lists and I have a mental list of what makes a person an adult. I was surprised to find on that average November day that I fit quite neatly into most of the categories, I had transportation, employment, a sense of autonomy, ideological suredness, ability to speak and be heard, and mental faculties in line with a pragmatism that is necessary to function in the real world. The French song playing on the radio and the brightness of the cloudy sky somehow triggered this revelation.

Devastation—it’s a word that can be defined in multiple ways. In my perspective it’s a heart-rending event that results in an overwhelming shock. At what age would an individual be able to handle devastating news? Everyone has their own opinion on that. Personally , I would say that fourteen and up is where individuals are most adept to handling difficult news. Yet, there’s still the lingering question as to “how can a young child handle devastating news; how does he or she cope with tragedies at such a young, fragile age?” Well, I learned the answer to this question firsthand, when an unexpected tragedy occurred—changing my life forever.

There is this feeling that has overcome me in the past few weeks, a feeling that I am clinging to something that does not exist anymore. That I am clinging to a feeling, to a time of freedom and innocence. I’m clinging to games played in the backyard, to the smell of grass as I tumble down a hill, to play dates, blanket forts and stamping in muddy puddles. I am clinging to childhood.

The time was currently 8:00 a.m. when I heard my alarm go off. I tried my best to ignore it about three times when I realized I must have something to do that's really important that I had to set up an alarm. I finally realized that my sister, Gabriela, and I had to go to the mall to purchase a dress for our cousin’s party. I got up, turned the alarm off, and went to her room.

It was a misty morning right above the ocean’s surface. My brother’s head, along with seven others, was bobbing in the waves and obscured by the morning haze. The sun had just broken the horizon and emitted its luminous rays of scarlet red, orange, and pink underneath the clouds. Beyond the clouds was the sky, an endless pool of blue. I felt like I had jumped into a picture of a brochure. Subsequently, reality came back to me and I no longer felt pleasant emotions from the scenery.

slept through the burglary. I considered lying about this to the cops when I went to report it, but you don’t lie to the police. It’s like doctors: they can’t help you if you lie to them. I mean, I don’t always tell my doctor the whole truth, but that’s because my doctor happens to be an old friend—some things are just too embarrassing to tell your friends.

A bright Sunday afternoon when the average teen who works, will stay at home and study. One particular teen, by the name of Phoenix Lowell, is finishing up his Calculus homework. He is occupied by the job of a part-time librarian. As people know: That libraries are closed on Sunday afternoons, leaving employees to do as they wish. Now in the brilliant city of San Francisco, CA, there are thousands of things to keep you occupied. Now all that and Phoenix chooses to study! Now that is no way to spend your free time for a 17-year old. Phoenix squinted his eyes trying to see if the symbol behind the number on his calculus homework was a factorial or an x. His dirty-blonde hair drooped down, blocking his focus. “Why does calculus

My Grandmother passed away when I was Fourteen years old a freshman in high school. I have never been more devastated in my entire life. My grandmother and I were very close we spent every day of summer together when I was little up till I was old enough to stay at home by myself. I remember that every Friday we would go to the bank so grandma could get a check cashed and we would use that money for lunch. My grandmother would always let me chose were we were going to eat and me being a child it was usually McDonalds just to play in the little playset. On Thursdays my grandmother and I would go to visit the sick from church and would make fruit baskets for them. Going to the nursing home was my favorite thing to do because you could see the