Personal Narrative In History

The biggest failure I experienced was back during my Sophomore year. The hardest class in the high school was AP World History in which the requirements were hours of homework a night. Many people tried to convince me not to take the course due to the fact that it is considered the hardest class in the high school. My mom tried her hardest to try and persuade me to take a different class but I felt that it was a requirement for me to take it to prove to the colleges that I was up for the task and that I was prepared to do the work necessary to succeed in college. The course required reading a whole chapter in the text book in three days and take a quiz to prove that we read and understood the topics. This is where I struggled the most because memorizing the chapters and the major topics was very difficult unlike others who could recited the

It was a sunny bright Friday afternoon and I was at school. I knew today was going to be the day, the day I get my new bike. After school my dad picked me up and drove home, so I can change out of my uniform and grab something to eat. I remembered my stomach feeling strange, I was so excited getting my new bike that I couldn't even eat. We went back in the car to go to Kmart. Even though Kmart was only like five minutes, it felt like I was in the car forever. I remember I was thinking of all the features my new bike was going to have.

The sparks fly in the air, there are marshmallows in your hair, and you’re with your favorite people in the world. This is called the best place on earth, for me at least. I enjoy camping so very much, you meet new people, experience different things, make new memories, and have a blast. You also see new sights, smell some things, and always wake up to the birds singing and not the bustling streets of the city. Camping is my go to activity.

Baghdad, Iraq is where I was born and raised; I lived there for about 6 years during the most pivotal years of the war. My dad left when I was about 7 months. He went to Lebanon to live for a few years before settling in the United States. My mom took care of me and my siblings. War was going on in Iraq; people walked with a dying heart. Iraq was split into Shiite, Sunni, and Christianity. Sunni and Shiite do not have any issues with one another, but there are people who do not like the Shiites and caused civil strife between the two divisions of Islam. My family is Shiite and we do not believe in a separation between anyone because we are one, they are

I like to beat the rush for lines and do not prefer being late, but

I spoke in public when I was in high school, 11th grade. I had to present about America and Vietnam war without using the note in my history class. However, I was little shy and scare that people will laugh at me because I cannot speak fluently English, even I was practice a lot at home and in my free times. In that moment I thought that I will give up. But, when I hear my friend’s presentation I feel like there are two person talking inside of me. One is motived me to go and the other one is not. At that time, I choose to step up and speak in front of my class because I know that I cannot hide behind my back forever so I motivated myself that I have to win the afraid in me. After that time, I have more experience, and in 12th grade I spoke

I arrived at practice with my shoes laced, hair pulled back, and the mindset that I was unstoppable. I could play against every member of my team and come out the victor on any given day. It was the first day of practice that week, and challenge matches were scheduled to begin. The team went through our daily shuffle of drills, conditioning, and running to prepare for what was lying ahead. While warming up with my friends, I felt great, talking about homecoming, boys, and a variety of irrelevant events. I felt ready. The odds were in my favor and nobody could stop me.

For the first ten years of my life, I had a very normal childhood. I went to a private catholic school in a small town called Westwego. We were about twenty five minutes south of New Orleans. During the summers, friends and family would come over to our house and we would all swim and boil seafood. The summer of 2005 was no different; I was looking forward to entering 5th grade. Fast forward to one week before school is about to start when Hurricane Katrina formed in the Atlantic Ocean. Hurricanes were no strangers to us as we have been through several throughout the years. However, a few days later the storm is upgraded to a Category 3 and is predicted to hit New Orleans dead on. My parents felt it was time for us to leave and we traveled

At the beginning of my freshman year I was attempting to develop motivation as well as seeking purpose and determining value. Whether in school or during sports or other activities and events in my life, I was constantly searching for motivation towards a goal or achievement.

One of two. That's how I feel everyday of my life. I'm a twin and that means I will never be complete without my other half. When I was younger, I learned that having a twin does not keep me from things. It's getting to have a person in my life that I don't need to hide from, other than in hide and seek. When I was little, my brother probably hated me as much as I hated him. But we were together all the time. We went to school together, we were in the same class almost all the time. Sometimes, we had the same friends even. We shared birthday parties, cakes, presents, money. Basically the same things we still share now. But between us, we shared secrets. Little things that we thought were so cool. When my grandma gave us money, we split it and made sure not to tell our parents. I went and bought

I was not an intentionally bigoted twelve-year-old. I was raised in an affluent suburban community where the vast majority of people are white. The 100% white private nursery school which I attended was chosen by my parents largely due to its proximity to our home. My public elementary school was about 70% white as it was populated with students who resided nearby. Finally, the private middle school which I attended, located almost an hour from my home, provided me with exposure to the most diverse student body of my youth as it was comprised of about 65% Caucasian children. What each of these formative academic experiences shared in common was both that their student bodies were disproportionately Caucasian, as well as that their senior administrators

At two in the morning seven years ago, my nine year old self was jolted awake by my mother. Begrudgingly, I peeled my eyes opened and tried to blink the sleep away.

My life began in Manhattan, New York in January of the year 1977. I was born to a 21 year old Irish American mother, Catherine Cunningham, and a 60 year old Sicilian American father, Anthony Perniciaro. My parents came from very different backgrounds. My mother’s family was relatively wealthy and affluent. My father was born and raised in Brooklyn. His parents were extremely poor immigrants that were seriously affected by the Great Depression. My father was a bricklayer and an artist when he met my mother, who was just starting her life, being only a few years out of high school.

It was a sunny summer day. We just got finished with a movie and just finished getting chairs at menards. We were on our way back to our condo up north about 30 minutes away from the dells, I was only with my mom and brother and he was about 4 and I was 10 years old. It was probably the most scariest thing in my life at that time and it was my first time getting in a car accident.

Racing at night going One-hundred and forty miles an hour on US-27 holding the lead, Shift six gear, speed topped out at two-hundred miles per hour passing by cars smoothly. I chanted I am immortal, I am a god! while I pushed my sports bike to its limit. Suddenly a black car approaches. WHAM! I get Rammed from behind and lose control of my bike slamming into a Semi-truck up ahead. Lights out. When I peeked my eyes, I saw 4 humans around me. Thump after thumb I believe I was in an ambulance rushing down the turnpike. I looked around and the first words that came to my head are “Rick this is just a dream”. This is the story of how I escaped from an illegal laboratory that clones and modifies humans.