Personal Narrative: My Legacy

A legacy, by definition, is something handed down by a predecessor. That “something” that is passed on could be anything, ranging from a story told by your great aunts and uncles simply to a doll loved by your family being passed on. A legacy can be a physical object or it can be a word of mouth kind of situation. Legacies aren’t always positive, however. A legacy could also be a burden that an ancestor dealt with.
My legacy originates from when I was a young little fifth grader. I wasn’t treated very nicely by the people at my school, and my brother had already created a name for himself as an awful student which fell onto me unfortunately, as we are siblings and I can’t do anything about it. I didn’t understand why we were moving schools

and I wasn’t happy, despite how everyone treated me. And yet I arrived at Montini for the first day to shadow. I had trouble talking to everyone, being as I was afraid that if I said something wrong, they would treat me just like at my old school and we had made all the adjustments for nothing. I didn’t like this school. I had thought it was much too small, the hallways were too narrow and the people were mean being as I didn’t know any different. And I carried that thought with me until the school year eventually started.
On my first day at Montini, I tried to ‘‘make friends” with everyone, but I wasn’t totally committed considering as I simply didn’t want to be there. But even when I got over that fact, I had trouble putting myself out there, viewing it as why would they want to talk to me? I was the new kid. Nobody had cared about what I did at my old school, so why would these people? I was just taking up extra space, that’s what I believed. I had spent the first week with the same people, and we had none of the same interests, we didn’t connect. But during that week, I hadn’t just been mindlessly going along with them. I’m an observer, I learn visually. I figured out what people’s “groups” were and anxiously looked for where I would fit. What I didn’t know in sixth grade was that I didn’t need to “fit” anywhere. These people weren’t puzzle pieces and what I was seeing through my eyes wasn’t some game that I was trying to win.
Later, when I had found that carefully calculated spot, I went there. And the group had changed that day, and what they told me was, “I don’t know how things worked at your school, but we have spots here. So you can’t sit here.” It was one person speaking for the entire table, but none of them seemed to object. It was happening again, what did I do wrong? It took so much for me to make it here and now it’ll be for nothing. It’s not like their table was full either. So I sat down. I told that person I was staying. That person wanted me to leave, but the others didn’t seem to mind. I stayed there, and I sat there every day. I heard that that person just didn’t like new kids. Based on previous experiences, the rejection at that sixth-grade table made something switch inside me. I wasn’t going to deal with what I had been before. That’s why I sat down and didn’t leave. Needless to say, that wasn’t helping my talking situation. I had shown character, so maybe I could convince them that I was the strong silent type. But why should I reinvent who I was? Did it mean that much to me?
Surprisingly, I used to love conversations.

I had so much to say and thought sharing my ideas and hearing everyone else’s was the most exhilarating experience. But now I rarely hold eye contact and use short sentences,seeing it as what makes what I say different that the kid next to me? I couldn’t stand to hear myself out loud thanks to the fact I made myself believe no one else could either. When I was in the fourth grade, at my previous school, people would sit two and even three to a chair to avoid sitting too close to me. I believed I was normal, but nobody else seemed to.
Today, the reason I am one of the quieter kids is due to that horrible mentality and feeling of isolation that I gained when I was so young and thought that was normal. I never liked receiving help from other people, it made me feel weak, and like I was the only person who needed

help.
However, during my seventh grade year, I tried to continue that goal of moving on.

I still had very terrible anxiety from the past, so it was difficult to do that. I could barely order food at a restaurant without feeling like I just ruined the staffs’ day, as they were serving food for yet another person. It would make their job easier if there were fewer people, right? I branched out a little that year and I was more comfortable with the school atmosphere. My favorite class that year was literature, taught by Mrs. Connell. My seat was in the back, by a few trusted people. On my left were the windows, with a few healthy plants on the windowsill. Outside the window, during that class, a brown dog would come out of the somewhat rundown house and lay on the steps in the sun. The sun shone on the desk next to me, but never onto my own, and I liked that. I was far enough away from the large groups that I couldn’t hear their loud banter. I loved that aspect. That is my favorite spot in the whole school, and what helped me through the year.
However, I’m in the eighth grade now. If I wanted to say anything about what I went through, people would make fun of me, so I can’t do that. My anxiety is still very much present, but I have awareness of how to calm it. Overall, I have more control over what I do. But the reason I don’t talk much has changed, and no one knows except me. It’s not being as I’m scared, but considering that I’m not. Had I wanted to, I could simply start singing High

School Musical songs during class. But I’m not, which is why I have control.
But if I truly had control, I could do whatever I wanted. I can never be like my siblings, who are loud, intimidating, and leave a trail of trouble. Their legacy is different from mine.
As for the future, I know that Marian Central is the feeder school for the my old school. While I have done my best to patch up the holes, it is still a rocky road. I’m not sure exactly what my plan will be, but I have an idea in mind. I intend to receive a proper education and focus on academics but also potentially earn a scholarship through volleyball. I don’t have much planned for my future, as I’ve been taking this day by day to make it through junior high. Where I’ll land socially, I’m still not sure as to whether I can actually accomplish my goal of who I want to be, or if I could just roll with what I’ve had going on. During a recent class, Mr. Semcken said something to the class that I didn’t think I would be as impacted by. What he explained, was that he had known someone who completely changed over the summer of eighth grade suddenly, with the reason as they were not fond of eighth grade and wanted to completely own their high school experience, and they did. They loved high school.
As for my own situation, the only career choice I’ve put enough thought into is the same one that I’ve gone on about since I was little. For some reason, I feel compelled to be a marine biologist. The reason is not that I’m so much interested in it’s creatures, but it’s depths (alright, maybe the creatures too). When I was younger, I had learned about the ocean in school, but not in much detail. I started watching documentaries on Animal Planet, reading books, anything that I could use until I was totally hooked (pun intended). “So much of the ocean is unexplored,” I remember thinking, “I want to know what’s down there.” I suppose that I’ve held onto that dream since it was the first topic I had been interested in on my own.
All I’ve wanted to do my whole life was grow up. Starting high school is the first real stride I’m taking towards that. I pushed to be in honors classes so that I can take AP classes, and possibly graduate early so I can go to college and then live on my own with a job. I’d skip high school if I had the chance and go straight to college. But since I don’t, I’m going to make myself enjoy high school, no matter what.
Yet, branching from what I said earlier, “legacies aren’t always positive,” this doesn’t mean it can’t end positively. It only suggests that the overall view is negative. So, I’d hope I’d be able to make my legacy end happily. I believe I am capable of that, as I have been much happier and more satisfied with myself and situation this past year. Whether the cause of that enjoyment was from losing or gaining something, doesn’t matter. So, hopefully like my legacy, this paper will end positively. To anyone reading this, you are more than mass occupying space. The very fact that you have thoughts and feelings, means that you are living, not just existing. If you ever feel like you don’t matter, open a window and let some sunlight in. That light traveled so far to touch you. No, it wouldn’t rather land on the dirt next to you. Feel it cover your skin like a blanket. If there is no sun, look to the stars. Imagine there’s something up there looking at you, too. If there are no stars, make yourself a meal. The level of elegance means nothing, use instant ramen noodles if you feel so. Close your eyes while you’re eating, let yourself taste every bite and its flavor. Notice how many colors there are in the areas around you. Who knew that a fork was so reflectant? And if you ever feel like a nuisance, I want you to know that in the same way you breathe without being aware, you make people enjoy themselves constantly. Your legacy, the way people see you, means nothing if you don’t think so yourself.
In conclusion, my legacy doesn’t tell the whole story, as this has been just my point of view. I have only a small idea of what I look like to the outside world, but I’m working on that.