Personal Narrative: An Outsider

(Running on stage) I’m finally home. (Taking off backpack) I don’t want to ever go back to school again. I wish I never moved to Canada. Life was so much better in the States where I’d have all my friends around. (Looking at photos of friends) Now that I’m in a different country, I’ve lost contact with all my friends. My parents said we were going to have a better life here in Canada because my dad found a better job and found a nice house and I was looking forward to living here. But things aren’t going so well. It’s just the first day of school and I’ve not had a good experience. At recess, this really tall guy confronted me and asked me if I was the new kid and if I had any friends. I was like, “…yeah…and no” and

¨Yeah, Darry I’m fine, why wouldn't I be okay, just that I have a very small headache, nothing to worry about ¨

I was raised with Christian values in mind, and attended a Methodist school. I was raised in the Christian faith yet I find myself, as with some of my friends who were raised in the same conditions, we seem to be growing farther away from our upbringing as we age. I find myself simply not understanding as time goes by, a complete polar opposite from the song ‘Farther Along’. One of my hopes in attending PBA is to try and find answers and a reason to try and reconnect myself. I believe PBA, from what I’ve read, has a very friendly understanding environment. One where you sit down and go into depths about faith, instead of blindly following it because it was your parent’s

I stared into the dark sky, taking a deep breath. “Tonight...tonight.” I breathed out loud. This past week i’ve felt jittery inside my stomach, holding back the smile i’ve wanted to show. Tomorrow was the day it all happened. I held my legs to my chest and thought about all the good things that could happen.

Anxiety makes me feel like an outsider, the odd one out, a human on Jupiter or an alien on Earth. My thoughts fill my brain like meteors; violent masses causing disturbance. So I ask myself,

As I laid in bed, searching across one of my favorite websites, creepypasta, for a decent scary story to read; I stopped short. "The Other You" was the title of the extremely short story that I now wish I had never opened. The story instructed that if you stand in front of a mirror, grab a random piece of hair while looking at yourself, then holding a ruler or other object capable of accurate measurement, then marked the ruler; then afterward doing it again only without looking in the mirror, that the lengths would be different. It said that doing this created confusion to your doppelgänger, whom you supposedly see in the mirror, living in an alternate universe. The only issue is that after you do this, you can never turn your back to that mirror again.

Have you ever killed someone? I haven’t, but I have been an outsider. We have all been outsiders at one time or another. But, what makes someone an outsider? Is it because of who you are, or who you aren’t? Is it something you did or said? Or maybe it is just because you are new or different. In one of my personal experiences, that was just it. I was, or at least felt like an outsider, just because I was new.

It was a cold winter day a few days after my birthday. We were packing stuff into brown boxes and Doritos boxes and some direct t.v boxes because we were moving. I was packing tons of toys in boxes. I was packing stuff in garbage bags and boxes to put in a garage sale.

I remember when I was a little girl and my Dad had just gotten remarried, my step-mom told me as we walked up to the entrance of Walmart she said that I could now call her ‘mom’.At the time I was six and I really didn’t understand what was going on and I went along with it being the people-pleaser I am. I just remember thinking this is wierd I already have a mom. I grew up hating my step-mother and ended up just calling her Mrs.Jenniffer. Mrs. Jenniffer has two daughters Ashley and Lexi. They were both mean to me, one time when I was 7 or 8 I don’t remember what I did probably just ‘had an attitude’ but Ashley said go to the corner, a common punishment, apparently my nose wasn't in the corner and she didn’t say anything she just sat on my head

"And that is why i cannot stand taxi's! Thanks for watching and don't forget to like and subsribe!" I wink and turn the camera off, the usual routine.

“JOE!, it’s time for you to leave for school!” hollered Joe's Mom from the kitchen. Joe opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling of his bedroom. “Okay, okay, Mom I'll be down in a minute.” This was going to be his first day at his new high school, without his friends that were still in Canada. Joe thought to himself, “I'm strong, I can do this.”

In my lifetime, I haven’t had the best of luck when it comes to injuries. For example I’ve been burnt a few times, had many cuts and bruises, even had my head split open but one injury that always sticks in my mind is when I almost broke my jaw.

“Alright people, we are wrapped for the day! Everyone looked fabulous today, great work! A bottle of wine is waiting for me at home so whoever walks out of the door last better lock up,” Mark the photographer says as he storms out the door before anyone else.

During the early months of the new year in 2006, my paternal grandfather died of a streptococcus infection. At that time my sister, brother and I were too young to understand, but we soon began to realize that a part of us was different and missing. Our family did not feel complete without my grandfather’s presence. Members of father’s side of the family were despondent and in a state of utter shock. Eventually with time and grit, they fought the sadness together and life resumed its almost as normal as before. Last summer, my family and I dedicated an entire morning to go and visit his tomb in Alsace, France. His name engraved on a dark slab of granite enable me to see my reflection and remember the personal memories I shared

A family of three, a father, a daughter, and a son, lived in a quaint little cabin shrouded in the thick foliage miles away from civilization. It was a late afternoon. A cool breeze swept over the silent, wooded neighborhood.