Personal Narrative: The Memoir

About six months ago, my grandma was diagnosed with stage four colorectal cancer. Last month, a family member of mine from Vermont called to tell me that she died. The only thing I could do was ask myself “Why? Why did such a terrible thing happen to such an extradentary person?”. I mean I guess it’s natural to assume all things happen for a reason, to think there is a greater intention for our suffering, but I simply can’t think that.

It was 8:30pm in my bedroom. I just got home from football practice like every other night.

It was a Saturday morning and it was game day. The game didn’t start until 12:00 and we didn’t have to be there 10:45 A.M. Once all of us got there and we finally got into the gym to shoot around and warm up, Alicia and I were talking about who St. Marys had all beaten. From who they had beaten, they sounded pretty good. After a while of shooting we started to stretch. Alicia, Hannah, and Emily were near me so I asked them why the other team wasn’t here yet. Emily said “I don’t know they normally are already here”. By this time Taylor Swift’s song came on which is Emily’s favorite singer. The song was “22” and Emily started to sing “We will just keep dancing like were 22”. Once we were done stretching we started to shoot

As a whole, I think my memoir is very truthful. Even though it happened almost a decade ago, I remember it very well because it was a turning point in my life. Everything as I knew it was going to change in an instant; my parents are separated, I’d only see my dad every other week, I’d have two of everything (birthdays, Christmas, etc), and other mental and emotional changes. From beginning to end, my memory is spot-on with this scenario. I wouldn’t have any reason to change it or believe it differently. It made me who I am today. I wouldn’t say I was exaggerating either. I definitely took this better than my brothers did and I have the strongest relationship with my father between my brothers and I. I wrote in first person because I feel like writing in third person doesn’t have the

I just want to start this off with saying I'm sorry for arguing and the attitude issues. Lastnight's not how I wanted to spend it. I didn't get a hug or a kiss, all I got was how did you do tonight as if money was the only thing you seemed to care about. Then you tell me to either get out of the car or go home and I said give me a minute because I was on my feet all night at work. And I didn't wanna,stand around the outside of the gas station. People always say never stop fighting for the person you want once you finally get them. And I feel like you don't want to fight for me because you have me now. You know you always tell me that you want the rayann that I was in st. Pete to come back it's hard for her to come back when the last couple of days/week we've done nothing but argue.

“What would you say if I asked to go away, just like we did after we met the hunters?” I brought up.

A typical day in a life of a missionary. I am awaken by the sound of

The minister is currently looking for a new place for the church to be located in. He shared, "I found several places near my house, one was 10 minutes away from the current church location by car."The minister has been searching for 2 months diligently for this new home for the body of believers in Denver. Pastor Thomas will be registered soon at OU, but currently he isn't. "Now things are quite busy here. I will pray about that, and when My co-worker returns from Dover for Kbers training, I will have more help at the church." Shared the Pastor.

The officer had me answer way too many questions making that day far worse than it needed to be he made me give a description of the killer and an overall summary of what had happened.

I’m surrounded by expected actions and bouncing basketballs. I had not yet found my true calling, though many around me have, whether it be basketball, cheerleading, the adrenaline of running past you’re competition they all had found something to drive them. It took me a year to find what I was truly passionate about and now that I am recollecting on it I’m obsessed with it, the overwhelming intensity that I am overcome with when I touch a volleyball. The first year of volleyball was rough, I enjoyed the fast-paced adrenaline when those fervent seconds turned into minutes and minutes into hours, but I didn’t have the skill required to continue to pursue the goals I set for myself. But I kept grinding, always practicing, always finding some way to include some sort of training into my daily endeavors like studying in intervals and rewarding myself with some technique training,

What a wonderful week, and way to end a transfer and begin a new one. I first wanted to say how grateful I am for this wonderful opportunity to be a missionary. It's been almost a year since I left beauty of California behind. Yet, there is something beautiful about the desert here in Arizona that I have truly come to appreciate.

I was on the verge of death, but death couldn’t catch me. It wasn’t a typical Friday. It was finals week, and that meant as soon as I got out of that last exam of my sophomore year I was off to meet my friends for lunch, followed by a party to celebrate completing another year and officially becoming junior. My friend, Michelle, along with her friend Josie, my sister, Armina and I were in my sisters car with the music all the way up and completely pumped to start our summer. We had just returned from Panera Bread and were on our way to the party. Thanks to having a senior sister, we went to a party where we ended up hanging out with an older crowd. As we drove up you could tell it was going to be wild. Cars and cars packed next to each other, there had to have been over 100 people there. I was

So there I was a fifteen year old, one ear pressed to the ice cold artificial wood of my bedroom door listening to my mother’s angry, drunken rant. “I just don’t understand why all he ever wants to do is play on his stupid little satan box upstairs. Why can’t he be like a normal boy and want to do something manly like football!!!” I sat there and continued to listen, like an assassin in night waiting to strike, to every disgusted word that erupted from my mother’s alcohol engorged mouth as she explained to my aunt over the phone how she thought of me as a pitiful disgrace. After the longest thirty minutes of my life, I had finally had enough, I kicked open my bedroom door with such force that it came off its hinges and hit the ground with a loud thud. My mother instantly turned to face me, a look of undeniable terror on her face. She knew that I heard every single poisonous word that oozed from her mouth. She knew what

I quietly let tears run down my face as my mother viciously beat me with her own hands. As she throws me on the floor, her foot makes hard contact with my back barely missing my spine. It feels as if she just threw a hundred bricks at me. “Be quiet! I’m watching the game!” my mother’s boyfriend yells from the living room while he lights another cigarette. I lay there with an emotionless expression on my face as my mother begins throwing whatever she can grab at me. She laughs as she looks at me lay on the kitchen floor silently weeping. “Pathetic” she says loud enough for me to hear. I close my eyes as she picks me up and takes me past her boyfriend and out the back door. I suddenly feel cold, and as I open my eyes, I was thrown into the

The leaves blowing, the wind was whistling. The moon shined brighter than the sun did that morning. I looked like no other normal teenager, But I was wearing all black. Black leggings, Black jacket, Black shoes, black shirt. My hair looked like caramel, my eyes looked like a yellowish brown that shined in the moonlight. My name was nothing important to people. People say “Angelys” is a nice name but i think differently. Nothing seemed to happen, I was coming home from a friend’s house. No one was near or so I thought.