Personal Writing: The Day of Surprise
“That's so cool!” I exclaimed. In my hand was a Valentines Day card which folded to make a spaceship. I was in a Hallmark card shop with my father, looking at cards for the upcoming holiday.
“If I got you that card now, then it wouldn't be a surprise later,” my father logically stated.
“But it's neat! See, it folds into a spaceship.”
“I'll get it for you but... just act surprised for your mother when you open the card.”
“Okay dad,” I answered as we walked up to the counter. My father paid for the card and we left the store.
It was a week before Valentines Day in 1987. I was nine years old and intensely anxious. Expectation for February 14 had overcome every other thought
I previously had. It might seem funny to some that I held that one day with such great esteem, but to me it was unlike any other holiday. On Valentines Day
I felt loved by everyone. On that day, I would obtain the card that I had picked out from my father. Classmates would give everyone Valentine cards. Some extremely generous kids would even attach candy to the cards. It didn't matter if you hated each other, on Valentines Day everyone put aside their differences and even presented cards to the children nobody liked. That one day of love seemed to unify the worst of foes through love and forgiveness. I could hardly wait for that day to come.
As the night before Valentines Day had rolled around, anticipation had escalated to an all time peak. Nevertheless, it was all set aside as my parents once again started to fight. My brother and I were sent to the car in the garage so that we would not witness them fighting. We knew the routine. I was scared and I could still hear angry voices dueling back and forth. My brother was a senior in high school and even he seemed frightened when they fought. Although he tried to hide his fear, I knew he was afraid when my father would go on a rampage. An hour passed by and my brother and I decided to go back inside.
The house was still. A pin could have dropped and we would of heard it.
My father had gone to lay down in his bed. This action was suggested by the marriage counselor that my parents had been visiting. Whenever my father got angry, he was supposed to rest until he calmed down. The problem was that he
To start, the only thing that Brother wanted was a younger sibling to “ race to Horsehead Landing...to box with and...to perch with...behind the barn”(Hurst 464). Although his wish of a younger sibling did come true, it wasn’t at all what he had hoped for. Instead he received a younger brother that wasn’t much of anything and on the day of his birth was expected to die. He was so much of nothing, that they didn’t even name him until he was 3 months of age. This angered Brother and he grew vexed and psychotic. “I began to make plans to kill him...smothering him with a pillow” said Brother(Hurst 464). Brother
My relationship with writing has been much like roller coaster.Some experiences I had no control over. Other experiences were more influential. Ultimately it wasn’t until I started reading not because I had to read but because I wanted to, that's when my relationship reached change. I would have probably never cared about writing as I do today if it weren't for the critics in my family. When I was a child, my aunts and uncles always been in competition with who's child is better in school. I have always hated reading and writing because of the pressure to prove my family wrong was overwhelming for me. I had to prove them wrong and show them that I was capable of being "smart" which according to them was getting straight A's in all your classes.
My brother and I have always been at each other’s throats all the way back to our forced meeting on the day of his birth. Do not get me wrong I love him and if he needed an organ I would be first in line with the promise to bug him about it until one of our deaths. As siblings we always have something sarcastic to say to each other, when the opportunity arises it never fails. Getting physical and pushing each other around is not a foreign concept to us.I mean if you can not wrestle with a sibling, are you really siblings? Are you really family? For as long as we have been forced to be siblings, physical situations have never gone too far, until 2008. In that year I was the victim of what many people would label criminal behavior.
Just as I said that, I heard the garage door entrance into the house swing open and the garage door outside being let down.
It was the summer of 2000 and I had moved in with my sister Jana in Santa
I am sitting in my bed, thinking about my process of writing as I am trying to go through it. It seems the more I think about it, the less I understand it. When I am writing, I don’t think. Which I know, sounds bad. But, I spend every single moment of every single day over thinking, over analyzing, and over assuming every aspect of my life. When I’m writing, I’m free from that for just a little bit. Until of course, my hands stop typing or the pencil (no pens- never pens) stops moving, then I’m right back on the carousel that is my brain. Heidi Estrem says, “...writers use writing to generate knowledge that they didn’t have before.” (Writing is a Knowledge-Making Activity 18). I believe my ability to write without an exact destination
It was the last Saturday in December of 1997. My brother, sister, and I were chasing after each other throughout the house. As we were running, our parents told us to come and sit down in the living room. They had to tell us something. So, we all went down stairs wondering what was going on. Once we all got down stairs, the three of us got onto the couch. Then, my mom said, “ Well…”
I close my eyes and I can still picture everyone there and how proud they were of me. The smile on everyones face was what made this day so memorable. When my mom came and put my dog tags on me she gave me a hug, the warmth of her against me made me feel like I was home again, and I was never gone.
It felt no different to any other day. It was the day my family and I were moving to the United States of America. After countless weeks of packing, this day felt rather calm. This was going to be our second time moving to a different country. Our first time moving was from Ethiopia to Uganda, my father had found a job there, so we followed him. I remember how excited I was to be moving since I was dissatisfied with the school I was attending in Ethiopia. Once we moved to Uganda, life became brighter. I made friends within the first week of school and the environment we were living in was simply mesmerizing. Since our first time moving was so successful, I had very high hopes for our second one. How naïve I had been.
caused a lot of stress to many people, I was seven years old and at the time I
computer then because now I know how to use it very well and it will be
An Unforgettable Trip - Personal Writing I finally arrived in Pakistan on a hot, June morning after nine tiring days. hours. The time is a lot. We finally arrived in a village and the heat beyond words was irritating me. I looked around me, there were trees and greenery.
With great embarrassment and pain, I must tell you that I have once been arrested; it was over a fight with my brother Jacob.
It was Friday morning and I was in the 5th grade at the time. My father decided to pull both me and my brother out of school. My mother wasn’t home. She had already gone up to the hospital with my grandmother.