Personal Narrative: Sister Muriel

I had been an only child for eight years so when my parents told me I was going to be a big sister I was shocked. I thought I was going to be an only child my whole life. It was normal for me to do things alone and I’m normally not thrilled about change but I was excited. We decided to name him Houston Michael Peters. He was originally supposed to be born on the thirty first of January, the same day as my dad. But he was born 2 days early on the twenty-ninth of January two thousand and fourteen and that's the day my life changed for the better.

On the night of December 19th, 2003, a baby is born. Her mom’s a social worker, her dad’s a nephrologist, and she has one older sister. Her name is Sophia Galoustian, although later she will wish to be called Sophie. After two years of living in Maine, the family moves to California, where Sophie will grow up.I am Sophia Galoustian, and this is part of who I am.

Mrs. Sofia is a 46-year-old Hispanic female. Mrs. Sofia moved to the United States six months ago from the Dominican Republic. She moved with her family to Connecticut to better their lives and for greater job opportunities. Mrs. Sofia works at the local high school as a housekeeper. Mrs. Sofia is happily married with two daughters, one son, and she lives with her parents. Mrs. Sofia is very close with her family. Mrs. Sofia stated, “My family is the biggest part of my life and support system”. Mrs. Sofia’s primary language is Spanish, but can speak some English. Mrs. Sofia and her family believe in folk remedies in times of illness. In time of sickness, she uses herbs to help cure the illness. Since Mrs. Sofia is a immigrant from the Dominican Republic she was not able to receive the same type of health care that a typical American would have.

As high school freshmen, most kids do not get very excited about walking into their College Preparatory Biology class, but I sure did! Everyday I looked forward to Mrs. Wilson's 3rd period biology lesson because she never disappointed. Mrs. Wilson was a special kind of teacher, she was the type to turn boring lectures into a captivating learning tale and had the gift of making tests enjoyable with her creative illustrations. Yes, you read that right, I enjoyed her tests. One day, Mrs. Wilson presented us with a demanding project; “Okay class, I am challenging you to create the BEST “Bunnimoose.” she announced. As we sat there with puzzled faces, she went further into explanation.

My term has come to an end as your Mid-Atlantic Regional Director and I would like to thank the Regional Officers who served and assisted me during my term. I also would like to think all the sisters who volunteered to assist me behind the scenes. I truly appreciate your input and support within the region.

The person I have chosen to do my essay on is Mrs. Gardner. Mrs. Gardner is my advisory teacher. When I first started school here at Potosi High School, I had a very difficult time adjusting to this new place. I had come fresh out of a homeschooling program and before that, I attended a small private school. I was scared that I wouldn't do well in this school. I was especially nervous about grade checks. I've always been a good student and made good grades, but I was worried that the stress of switching schools would get to me and I'd struggle. Mrs. Gardner has been encouraging and empathetic to me since day one. She has reminded me not to worry so much and that as long as I'm doing my best, that's all that matters. She has taught me

I come from a place of proud people and independence; a place of worn church houses and of tear stained Bibles. I come from a place of shackles and chains made of coal that held my people in slavery and subjugation; a place of used needles and broken hearts. I come from Appalachia, and I will be heard. My roots run deep within me connecting me to the mountains where I was born. In my times of trials and tribulations. I look back to my roots and the people who worked so hard to get me to where I am. I find hope In those memories, they give me the strength to persevere and work towards my goals.

I am writing this letter to tell you how much you are meant to me. From the moment that I saw you, you steal my heart. Oh, my dear Edna, you do not know how much I am dying here in Mexico. I missed you so much. You know, it is warm and hot here, but my heart only has light when I thought about you, my dear Edna. I missed your eyes, the sparkle of your smiles, and your soft touch.

Back in 2012 my sister, Kampbell, decided that she had an interest in gymnastics. My parents, being the loving people they are to her, let her join Kids In Motion, a gymnastics facility in Washington, Missouri. She had a lot of fun with it and has actually got really good. She goes to practice three times a week and has had multiple competitions all around Missouri and I go to most of them. Gymnastics is not the only sport that she plays, she plays volleyball, gymnastics, and she also wants to join cheer when she gets to high school. Currently, she goes to St. George Catholic School and is in eighth grade. Over last summer the national gymnastic competition was in Kingsport, Tennessee, which is the closest to us that it has been in a long

Not everyone’s life is filled with happiness. Granny Weatherall, in “The Jilting of Granny Weatherall,” by Katherine Anne Porter, and Addie Bundren, in “from As I Lay Dying ‘Darl’,” by William Faulkner, are two dying poor women who recall their lives in their minds when they are laying in beds. Their tough and harsh lives are similar in several ways. Granny Weatherall and Addie Bundren both had two men in their life. Granny loves her husband, John, and George.

It was such a thrill to welcome Molly and her mom into my newborn photographer studio for her one-year, cake smash portraits. While I love the brand-new babies that come into the studio, there's a special place in my heart for the 1 year sessions.

I brought my plate outside, the patterned china seemingly wet in the sun. I took a bite of my sandwich. The cool veggies managed to dull the heat. The cucumbers crunched in the bread as i took another bite, my mind wondering as I set. I could recall all of the gathering held in this yard, both joyful and somber. Gatherings of celebration and mourning. Each year we would sit In the yard, mixed chatter filling the small clearing. Everyone flocked to the small, one story home. Grandmothers, cousins, uncles, aunts, all alike. Each gathering, the numbers seemed to grow. We would all sit, listening, gathering, and sharing stories of one another. Though it is always nice be reunited family and friends, the empty yard is an entirely separate place. As I finished my sandwich, I looked around, almost an hour had passed. I begun to clean up the spot I was occupying, stacking my dishes and

I can’t believe that Aunt Lisa is dead, and it’s because of me. Lauren only wanted to take Matthew and I, and because poor Aunt Lisa loves us and got involved Lauren killed her. These past few days that I’ve spent with Aunt Lisa and Lauren, they have shown me nothing but love and hospitality. I looked up to them, I thought that they were the perfect example of how twins should be. In a way I was jealous of them, Matthew and I aren’t close, and when we do talk, all he does is either try to pick a fight or make fun of me. However despite, how many times I say I hate my brother, at the end of the day he is still my brother and I love him. I would never stoop as low as Lauren and kill him for my own benefit.

Late night phone calls never end well, and this one was no exception. My mom answered the shrill ring of the landline early one Wednesday morning and was greeted by her sisters solemn voice. Aunt Mary told her that their mother wasn’t able to swallow food anymore; an obvious problem that had all the more meaning to her. Barely a month before, grandma’s sister, my Great Aunt Maureen, after a long period of declining health, quickly passed away after loosing her ability to swallow. It seemed that grandma would follow her sister’s example. Mom hung up the phone, the weight of the world settling around her shoulders, and booked a flight for the small Irish town she grew up in.

I will tell you a tale of a woman of great success. This is a woman that has inspired me to be something great one day and to never give up trying. Though she may be growing into her elderly years she has lived a very challenging, joyful, loving and successful life. She is a woman of great faith and character, she is my grandmother.