Personal Narrative: Why?

It was the day the junior high volleyball girls played Madison Grant! They were the only team that we lose to last year.We were going back and forth and back. It was a really good game. Who won the biggest rivalry in Frankton JH?

“How can I forget when all you do is talk about it? Why do you care? I’m the one who had to worry about getting caught. What if someone recognized me?”

Over my years of school, one big influence on me has always been sports. Ever since a young age, I have always enjoyed playing and watching sports. In my four years in high school, I have fell in love with the sport of lacrosse.

I woke up and took one bite out of my pop tart but that one bite was all I could eat. My legs were shaking, and my heart was pounding. My dad told me, “It is a true honor to even make it this far so go out there and have some fun.” Once I heard this statement, I knew I was ready to go. I arrived at school and boarded the bus. The car ride was an hour and fifteen minutes of hearing the squeaking of the wheel on the bus. My teammates were getting their heads ready for the big game.

Of course the norm for me is that of any citizen living in zone three.

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.

“You’re pretty for someone who has dark skin.” I stood there in the middle of my 10th grade English class, stunned. Trying to fathom whether or not to accept it or acknowledge it was a backhanded compliment. I sat there thinking to myself did this other student who shares the same color skin as me, just feel the need to associate my beauty despite my color? This was just one of many times in my life I had encountered phrases like that, but that day in my English class, I realized society had created a social norm that just wasn't going to sit right with me.

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

What is your thirty-second elevator speech to someone asking you why he or she should

2 Kings 20:05 – “. . . I have heard your prayer; I have seen your tears: behold, I will heal you.” Amplified

The second I walked into middle school, I knew what I wanted to do, and how I intended to do it. Growing up, I was always taught to value education since nobody in my family had gone to college. Questions about college were frequently met with blank stares and dismissive shrugs. It was regarded as unchartered territory, and I planned to conquer it. My earliest memory of my grandmother was when I was 8 years old. Yearning for something to do, I resolved to learn Farsi, and began nagging my grandmother to teach me it. However, growing up in Iran, she never learnt how to read or write, and so she couldn't write my name, or even teach me the alphabet. My 8-year-old mind couldn't grasp the idea that my grandmother was illiterate. I went to school every day, learned how to write

“Have you seen my watch?” “Huh?” “Have you seen my watch? I can’t find it.” “Sorry, I haven’t. It doesn’t matter now. We’ve got to go.”

Sitting on that bench wasn’t going to help make me feel better about myself. Neither was it going to place me on my dream team. Repeatedly thinking about the catastrophic event that took place within that hour made my head want to burst. I wasn’t sure how my eyes wanted to react; it was as if they were holding back my tears all the way back from my head.

she was. Once, everyone was awake and dressed at 8 o'clock we went over to the main lodge to find our friends Chris and Lynda Schatz, with their friend Tim Isbell already eating. It seems that it’s always a buffet here with the same thing as yesterday, but there was hash brown shredding's instead of squares, and I once again had cinnamon rolls, apple juice and bacon, excluding biscuits because they were just nasty. We ate our breakfast and chit chatted, but while we were doing that the weather turned nasty, and the wind was howling much more than it had yesterday.

When people think of social media they probably think of Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram. All of these websites allow you to post, comment, and like things other people say. It’s a great concept and all of these types of social media are very popular. I have an account or two on all of these websites, but after a while started to notice something. It started going from nice posts and pictures of my friends to videos and pictures of people I didn’t know all with very negative comment sections. This made the whole experience of seeing what my friends were doing a stressful and annoying time. It was at this point in time four years ago when I attempted to seek out an alternative form of social media that would have a more positive feeling to it. I needed to prove to myself that not all social media was a bad place or just a waste of time.