Personal Narrative: Hamilton

The end of an era is now upon many current and former West Virginia University students. After the 2017 spring semester there will be no more clanking of the heating system, no more puke in showers, no more shattered windows in the breeze way and ultimately no more Arnold Hall.

Throughout the conversation, Susan did not inform me that the home was still in First Look and not open to investors at this time. Susan did not highlight any features of the home, nor did she talk about the neighborhood or the surrounding area. When asked, Susan paused to reference the property file and stated, "In looking at the pictures it appears that it needs interior paint, carpet, appliances, and a few windows, which the previous seller must have taken." She stated, "I don't know why they have to remove things from the homes." I asked, "Do you have offers?" She paused to check the property file and answered, "No offers." I asked, "Is the property behind the home farmland?" She paused to reference the property file and replied, "It appears

“Hey you want to drive”, my step-dad yelled over the loud engine of blue grizzly 4x4 quad I yelled “yes!!”, so as I got one the quad I put on my helmet and fased the strap on the same color helmet.

It's a Friday afternoon, I plan to go to Great Wolf Lodge in an hour with my church. I see one of my friends so he says to his mom “ Hey, that's my friend” I said “Crap” So I go inside to sign in to go and see my friends just sitting in a corner on a big sofa. We are listening to music and just talking then a green bus comes.

As people always recognize kids for their strength, I’ve been put a writer card in my wallet of identity since I was young (according to my mum, I wrote earlier than anybody in Kindergarten, although she forgot I was also older than anybody). To be honest, while sometimes I’m proud of it, sometimes this “Write and Wrong” identity really creates pressure and constriction. I surprisingly found out Hamilton is really where I’m looking for. The open curriculum with a stress on writing and speaking can let students truly explore the liberal arts while building a solid communication capability base. I’ll be able to meet more possibilities and potentials with the guide of “The Quill Pen” that has been leading this college for years. The next time

The days leading up to the fifth of August had been characteristically Irish, complete with clouds in Connemara, a daylong drizzle in Dingle, and forty-mile-per-hour winds at the Cliffs of Moher (which, under said conditions, were more deserving of their Princess Bride alias, the Cliffs of Insanity). In Ireland, the island nation that gifts its western seaboard with 225 days of rain each year, fickle weather is a fact of life. But now, for eight hours, my family needed the Wild Atlantic Way to tame itself—perhaps, for just one day, the Mild Atlantic Way could suffice?

By the time I knew what I was getting myself into, it was already too late.

Hello, Dr. Taft, I look forward to another exciting semester with you, and my cohorts exploring my inner and outer world. Let’s start with my family constellations it begins with my stepmother, and my father, my older brother Steven along with myself. At the time, I did not know that Ann was my stepmother, and I did not find out until I was older, and she had two sons who lived in Arizona. A few years later her eldest son Tommy would come to live with us, and the life that we were accustomed to would change the outcome of all our lives.

I was so excited you updated author-nim. I really enjoyed the chapter. I could only assume that the character was based off you. I know life is hard: coping with our emotions, accepting ourselves the way we are, decision making, and life changes, are not easy things to accept and/or make. Each day is a new beginning and along with it come new challenges/battles that we have to face and overcome.

John and I had been friends for years. We had both lived in Seattle, then he moved to New York because his dad found a new job opportunity. Coincidentally, my dad found a job in New York that paid better than his current job too, so we ended up moving as well. Both our dads were painters, and they had met while painting a bridge across the river in town. We lived close together in the outskirts of Seattle. Both our families were poor, and couldn’t afford good transportation and schooling. John had been 14 when I was 12, but we lived next door to each other so it was hard not to be good friends.

I was only thirteen when I first began to ask “who am i?” My parents would tell me stories of where I’m from, and how Sudan is like. My little brain couldn’t grasp the idea of having family, people that look like me, in the other side of the world. Going there was a dream for me, I had this vision in my head, this adventure I thought waiting for me, and so, I began to nag! “Can we go this summer daddy?” became one of my favorite things to say. I asked and asked, until I got what I wanted.

It was cold on the night of November 14th. My friend, her boyfriend and I were walking to Walmart, planning on getting cake ingredients for my friend’s grandmother’s birthday. On our way there my surroundings seemed rather quiet for it being Angola. I felt like something was wrong like something had happened. But I continued to toss the feeling aside and just walked the path that leads to the parking lot. I couldn’t help but look in between the trees that held pitch black darkness. I was worried that was where troubles may lie, I was wrong. My real problem all started with a simple phone call.

Have you ever been so mad at one of your parents and said something you regret? Well I sure have... and my mom heard it.

January 22 was my birthday. I got some pretty great gifts, but it wasn’t the most ideal birthday ever. My dog ended up running away early that morning. It was the saddest birthday ever. He’s my best friend and I didn’t even get to spend my birthday with him. He’s a hunting dog, so whenever he smells something, he takes off after it and never turns around. The past times he’s ran away, he has come back. All I did was pray that he would come back. He’s my best friend and I couldn’t imagine my life without him.

Sun rays like lightning bolts hitting their backs, burning their skin slowly and painfully. They were in love and united, not only by law but by their promise to each other to find a better future. Although they had options, staying in their hometown was not one of them. Walking through, what they referred to as, El Cerrito was what they saw as the easiest solution. There were steps to getting there, hiring a Coyote was the first, the money transfer came later. Walking through that path was unimaginable, and even scarier than of the unknown that would of come once they arrived to the United States. She had met him a couple years ago, and married him months after running away with him. A glance, that’s all it took for him to decide that his life will be dedicated to making her happy. He was a very rich man, in lack of money. He, like her, cared for his family and was connected to his proud aztec roots. Those of which made him strong, giving him the courage to continue walking all 136 miles from Tijuana, Mexico to Los Angeles, California.