Personal Narrative: My Favorite Place

I think most people have a favourite place, a favourite moment, a favourite person, or perhaps a memory that has just stuck around and without realising it those things are what makes people the person they are. They give people a reason to be; to exist. I realized my moment and place on the same day, but it wasn’t exactly positive. You see, I own a wallet, like many people on this earth and I regularly use it like everyone else. Except, my wallet has a little card and this little card is a pass for all access to a mountain. This pass created a ripple in my mind of an event that unfolded before my eyes a few years prior.
The ground beneath me was an unpainted canvas, perfectly white and blank, waiting to have a brush run over it and create a masterpiece. Except, this blank canvas was surrounded by curious people, waiting to see the finished product. We waited for a signal to drop in, half of us with skis, the other half with snowboards. I was never fond of snowboards, or the people who snowboarded. They all appeared rather arrogant, like they owned the slopes we shared. Rock Garden was never meant for young children to use, it was a complicated run close to the edge of a cliff. It wrapped itself round a centre point, like an artist’s hand gripping their brush. Once round the loops, you would enter a valley that connected multiple runs and exited onto the main slope. It was almost impossible, like trying to merge into rush hour traffic. Many experienced people would use