Personal Narrative Essay: The Outsider

My whole life I’ve felt like an outsider. When I was younger dealing with a learning disability, I have had a hard time making and keeping friends even to this day. I struggle with being a follower instead of a leader. My own adoptive father verbally abused me growing up and I also had kids in fifth-sixth grade who constantly bullied me. I still am reminded of an instance when the first day of fifth grade approached: I got on the bus and these older girls started making fun of my pants saying, “She’s wearing high-waters.” I was humiliated in front of my peers every day since than during those two years. After being bullied for so long I made a vow to myself to never forget the pain inflicted upon me on a daily basis.

Every since I came to this city I have been feeling like a stranger. It is difficult to leave your hometown, what you are used to, and go to some weird city you have never been to before.

I never thought I would be labeled an outsider, a misfit even. As I trudged my way through the halls of my small town high school, I would endure the gazing pairs of eyes, that belonged to my peers, followed by whispering and often times some laughter. I always used zone out during those repetitive speeches and commercials about the effects of gossiping and rumors; never did I imagine that one day I would be on the receiving end of of the everyday potshot. Growing up I was always the center of attention, the one everyone yearned to be friends with, never was I the antisocial child in the corner with nowhere to turn… not until high school. They say high school changes you. They say high school accounts for some of the greatest years of

The day was hot and musty, the roaring of fans could be heard in every room of the old house. Yet, as the peaceful residents swam in the cold, refreshing pool, one girl stayed inside- buried in papers and work. She frantically wrote, drew, and marked on the plain graph paper in front of her, determined to finish what she started. Hours that felt like days passed until the girl finally lifted her pencil to examine her work. On the paper was a drawing of a CO2 car, a rail car to be exact. It was a simple design, she thought, but it would work well. She sighed, her breath hot. She was finally ready for what lied ahead of her. Her eyes drifted to the CO2 car she had just drawn. Webs and a hour glass decorated it for a Black Widow look. Yeah, it was cool. Her eyes fell back to the paper in front of her as she signed her name. “McKenzie Quarles - Entry: Black Widow – Competition: CO2 State Dragster Race.”

Topic: The Outsider is not about the murder of an Arab but about the inability of society to understand Mersault’s Detachment

I’ve always been an outsider, it’s been hard for me to build friendships and relationships. Not too long ago, there I sat in the corner of the room in the way back, trying to hide from the world, and be myself. I didn’t really want to get involved with anything or anyone. I was afraid to open up, talk to others, maybe because I was afraid to get rejected. Until, I met the best people I could ever meet, my best friends Marisa Mendoza, Jessica Contreras and Deseray Reyes, the ones who up to this day have sticked by my side, at my best, and worst moments. They have all been a big part of my life, I can enjoy every minute I spend with them. For me, they aren’t only my friends they are like my sisters.

Much of my life I have been an outsider. One could not tell this by solely looking at my life. I have a well-established friend group and was Prom Queen on top of that. I am also an officer of various clubs, which could not happen if I was disliked by my peers. If one looked closely, and had an almost omnipresent view of my life, they would see that despite these accomplishments, I have wandered through much of my life feeling alone.

Was there ever a time in your life where you felt like a stranger or an outsider? Well I have, it was when I first transferred to Nanakuli High and Intermediate School what made it feel more left out was that it was already deep into the school year my 8th grade 4th quarter. I felt left out and felt like I would just be jumping into somebody group and it felt weird who knew if they wanted to hang with me or not. But without it I wouldn’t be who I am today.

I am the outsider. I attended beginner sailing camp with my brother, Kent. I had never stepped foot on a sailboat while my brother had sailed since the previous fall. He knew all the instructors because they were fellow high school sailors. I was in a whole different world: the sailing world. New terms like “line” instead of “rope” was being drilling into my head. All instructors and Kent continuously said, “There is no rope on a boat, only line.” The bonding of Kent and the high school instructors made me jealous and envious of their relationship. At that time I was the outsider, who knew nothing about sailing.

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

The storm continued to vent its temperamental rage on the earth and its people. What an outsider would consider 'nice weather' was completely unheard of. This was the regular routine of the weather, and no one seemed to mind it.

At times in life there comes something called change. In my opinion, I was not a big fan of change. You cannot imagine how I was feeling when my mother announced that we were moving. It was the middle of my sixth-grade year, I was feeling countless emotions, none that could be explained at the moment of the announcement. The main thing on my mind was school; my friends, my outstanding teachers, and the environment. All things I had left behind. All I could think about was, “How will I ever adjust?” I knew exactly what was to come, I knew exactly what I was going to become, an outcast. There were numerous of ways on why I was feeling this way, but

Ever since I had these powers I couldn’t figure out what to do with them until I got this one idea I said “I should be a superhero.”

The spring sun peeks through the trees on 89th Avenue as I trudge up the incline. School's out for the day and the library is my next stop. My thoughts are punctuated with the weight of education I carry and the students driving by at the “speed limit.” But silence inevitably returns, and one can hear the solidness of my backpack and the rhythmic jingle of its zippers colliding as I progress closer to the library, bringing me closer to fulfilling my daily routine.

It all started in fourth grade when I was ten years old. One day I was walking home from school and my best friend named Shushu, was crossing the road. One of the first safety lessons I learned in grade school was from a safety control teacher who taught us how to safely cross the road. All the pupils assembled in the school hall and listened attentively as the teacher spoke in his deep, loud voice. The teacher said, “Repeat after me: Look to the left, then to the right, look left again, and when the road is clear, quickly march; no running.” We were asked to repeat those sentences, like reciting a poem, numerous times before he left. One day after school, Shushu decided to run while crossing the road in an attempt to beat a car which was approaching. I shouted and tried to warn her but it was too late. Unfortunately, she stumbled and fell into a gutter, and her right ear detached from her head. I felt awful and sad. I felt powerless because I couldn’t help her. Two women who were selling roasted corn by the roadside came running. One of them took her head scarf and wrapped Shushu's bleeding ear. The other ran to a nearby shop to get assistance. This was the moment I decided I would pursue a career that would give me the opportunity to help people. The feeling of being powerless as she laid in the gutter with blood gushing out of her ear left me feeling guilty. I wanted to participate in helping Shushu, but instead I just stared helplessly and cried.