Personal Narrative: Is It Worth The Pain?

When you have substantial amounts of people subsiding in a general region you will always have those who agree with certain policies and those you disagree. In the case of the US immigration policy, there was a considerable amount of people who had strong opinions on America's way of running their immigration system. Many interviews, articles, speeches, and cartoons were created to show the harsh insensitivity they felt was being portrayed in immigration. A Senator of New York named Meyer Jacobstein made several thought-provoking claims towards the policy. He started with a point against the committee, “ One of the purposes in shifting to the 1890 census is to reduce the number of undesirables and defectives in our institutions. In fact,

The most vivid injury in my mind is one that still shows today on my right ankle.

After reading your response I realized I was not completely clear on my point of view. I have noticed this before and am working on trying to be clearer when writing. I also am trying to find a balance when giving details with my explanations. It is a find balance that I am still learning, in the past I have gone off topic because of my detail or long explanations. This is something that I am constantly working on and is not easy. However, when I receive feedback like this one it helps me find the part of my journal that I need to fine tune. I appreciate the time you took to read and give a meaningful response and not just tell me you agree. Yes, I do like people agree with me because I am only human. But when I receive a response like your,

I still remember the date it was May 4, 2012. I was playing kickball in gym class at school when I suddenly had a sharp pain in my left leg and it swelled up. At first I wasn’t sure what had happened all I knew is that it hurt. I later found out that I had fractured my tibia right below my knee. I was upset about it when it first happened because it required a cast which meant I had to rest it for about 2 months.

I quickly swallowed my homemade authentic Indian food leftovers and gulped down my chocolate milk. Looking down at my watch that read 11:28am, I knew that I only had two minutes until my most favorite part of the day: recess. This particular day in 5th grade, I had run a lap around the playground before getting the rest of recess to myself. As I started walking for my warmup, another student ran up and said, “My parents said that your people caused 9/11.” Completely caught off guard, I held back the tears in my eyes and tried to shake off his comment. I had never encountered something like this.

Some people fracture a bone in their body; some break the same bone twice. A few rupture a bone from slipping on a rug. I happen to be one of the very few for whom both of these scenarios are true. Between the ages of five and seven, my parents enrolled me in a gymnastics class because I loved to tumble and twirl. I knew how to execute everything a little gymnast aimed for: a cartwheel, a handstand, and splits. I always tested my limits with the dream of getting to the Olympics. So, as any athlete, I practiced outside of the gym. However, a normal practice would turn out to crush my dream of winning the gold. Outside at my aunt's house, my cousins and I decided to practice what we learned in the class that week. I had diligently watched the older kids master a back handspring so I thought that I could tackle the challenge. All I remember is falling backwards, thinking I had stuck the landing. However, lying on the floor, I realized that my arm appeared abnormal and shooting pains came from all angles. I had broken my arm for the first time.

When my mother asked me to read a book a few months ago, I was hesitant to agree. A stressful school year was approaching, and seeing my friends on a Saturday night seemed much more appealing. When I was younger, curling up with a good book was a typical pastime. Then came high school, and reading was replaced with countless hours of studying, cheer practice, and trying to figure out when I could catch up on some much needed rest.

So then I go, and find Mrs. Price and tell her, ¨The red sweater wasn't mine. I knew adults weren't right all the time.¨ So I yell at the top of my lungs to Mrs. Price, ¨YOU BELIEVE ALL THE STUDENTS AND YOU ALWAYS YELL AT ME, I WISH YOU NEVER TEACHED HERE, I JUST WANT TO PUNCH YOU IN THE FACE.” Then Mrs. Price tells me to go to the office. So I stomp my feet on the floor ,and go to the office. When I get into Mr. BobbyJoe’s office i talk to him and tell him what had happened. He says to me, “Now Rachel I know how you feel if I were you I would do the same thing. So what i want you to do is to go and tell Mrs. Price your sorry while I go and call your parents then come back.” So I go back to the class room and tell Mrs. Price that I was

While in gymnastics, I was lined up to do my routine on the uneven bars . Since I was young and in the beginners level I had a very easy routine. After doing my routine I had to jump on to the floor to fast which ended in me twisting my ankle.My mom was called and i was taken to the hospital so they could check on my foot, which was when they confirmed that I had a sprained ankle.

The Old English epic Beowulf is built around the archetype of the journeying hero. Beowulf exemplifies a classical hero, one who is not immune from hubris, but who channels his strong will into judicious endeavors. Thus, Beowulf dies with the honor and glory befitting a king. His story is one of distinct binaries between good and evil. On the side opposite to Beowulf's goodness is the gruesome Grendel. Grendel is a monster, and the original epic poem does nothing to introduce moral ambiguity that would engender any sympathy for the creature. The creature represents brute force and misanthropic evil, which Beowulf successfully vanquishes. Therefore, Beowulf is established as an existential warrior-hero whose acts of courage and bravery are not just beneficial for his ego but to all of humanity. Grendel is a one-dimensional monster; whereas Beowulf is slightly more complex due to his status and role in society. In 1971, John Gardner retells the medieval tale of Beowulf, from Grendel's point of view. In so doing, Gardner creates a new postmodern hero. Grendel is not the demon that Beowulf and the Danes thought he was; a literary technique that raises all sorts of issues related to stereotyping, discrimination, racism, imperialism, and cultural hegemony. Grendel also reworks the theme of heroism by injecting moral ambiguity into the original story. With Grendel, Gardner replaces a more realistic version of moral right and wrong for the simple dualistic worldview of Beowulf.

All my life I’ve been told that college was a place that I would meet some of my best friends and possibly my significant other. Although I have made a few friends and acquaintances, I have not been as social as I would have hoped. My experience during my first few months at college have not been as good as I would have hoped but not horrible either.

I pull my knees closer, trying to shut out the cold, although even as I do so, I recognize the futility of the gesture. I can’t preserve heat like this, trapped in a metal husk with nothing but the clothes on my back. The unyielding sheet of steel that’s been keeping me upright for what seems to be centuries was not meant for man—merely machine.

I want to apologize for my recent activities and actions. This text might be large so I might have split the text into pieces.

One evening, I was helping my eleven year old son with his homework. We began to speak about how much school is important and how you have to do your best in order to succeed in life. He looked up and asked "mom why didn't you ever finish your school?" That was an excellent question and got me thinking.

I still remember the Tuesday night sitting in the cold park bench alone looking at my phone and reading his text. Part of me wanted to be blissful, he knows I exist, but the major part of me was trying to hold back the tears that were starting to make their way through. Sometimes they don’t have any idea of how long their words can stay in our minds and how many different ways it can affect us. I still remember every word in that text; stabbing like hundred knives, and enhancing the pain. I started doubting myself that day, was I worth everything? Was I worth for someone to like me? Do I even like myself for someone else to trust me? We know there is a saying, ‘love isn’t supposed to be easy; it is supposed to be worth