When people ask me, “Camille, where are you from?” I answer, without hesitation, “Stockton, California.” Yet, I am not a true “Stocktonian.” Yes, I have resided here for the past five years, but I still regard myself to be a “Moragan.” For eight years, the hills of Moraga, California was a place to call my home. At age five, I became a roadrunner at Donald L. Rheem Elementary and at age eleven, I became a marauder at Joaquin Moraga Intermediate School. Sadly, I never had the chance to become a cougar at Campolindo High School. Yet ever since I was in kindergarten, I was drawn to Saint Mary’s College. Living down the street from the campus, I heard every cheer from the nightly sports games, listened to every hourly church bell, and started at
I´ve just got out of the ferry so that I can cross the river and John is acting happy, maybe because the Confederates haven´t caught us yet. I´m glad that I crossed the river too but maybe one day we might be caught. Willie and his friends are taking John and me over Locust Hill, to what he says, the Garretts farm. The Garretts turned out to be kind and let John stay at there house for the night while I join the soldiers to a nearby town.
I was born on a Navy base in San Diego a little before two in the mourning. I am the youngest with two older sisters Shauna and Cassie. We basically lived two-thirds of our childhood on military bases stationed throughout the United States of America. My father being in the Navy meant we moved a lot I have lived in New Orleans, Pensacola, and San Diego and finally we settled in Tomball, Texas which is thirty minutes away from Houston. I went to a lot of different schools during my childhood an sometimes we would move before the year is up which made it difficult for me in school.
Crackle, pop the fire sounded as I placed new logs on top of the hot embers. This was the fire the children of my village sat around and told stories before they went to sleep, and tonight was no different. All of their eyes stared at me expectantly as they waited for me to start telling them a story. “Two Rivers Running, tell us the Story of the Great Battle again,” the little ones asked. All eyes were on me as I sat down next to them, everyone silent as I told them the story of the Great Battle.
Coming to Cal was great for me because it was the first time I had found a real LGBTQ community. Growing up I always moved schools so most of my friendships were fleeting and upon settling for high school the Gay Straight Alliance club was extremely small so coming to Cal provided a great sense of community and belonging. The summer before my first fall semester, I took a few classes to get a feel for the campus which ended up coinciding with Obergefell v. Hodges and SF gay pride which is where I made a lot of friends. Whether it is going for drinks in the Castro, dressing up for the Folsom street fair or going to social events at Oscar Wilde, Cal has provided an amazing sense of acceptance and a safe space. During the spring semester, I preformed
Meet my Jazz band. This is a picture of us in New Orleans my junior year during spring break to play Jazz. I decided upon this picture because this band has had such a profound impact on how I frame my future. My connection with music through the piano has been fostered ever since I could reach those shiny black and white collection of keys. Starting at the age of four, playing the classical music of Mozart and Bach was what my musical background was founded upon, with tangible medals and accomplishments as achievements.
As a kid growing up there are encounters that change your perspectives on life and what you need to fulfill in life. Luckily growing up for me was never what some would state a battle. I experienced childhood in a white collar class group of five in the residential community of Mercedes, Tx. As a kid living around there of texas known as the Rio Grande Valley you start to see the battles other individuals look in the group and You end up noticeably appreciative for the things you do have.
Growing up in California, my whole life has been around farming and like many others, it’s how I make a living. It’s now been at least a year, living through the Dust bowl and many people have migrated to California with the hope of surviving this crisis. Keeping my crops has become a struggle and that's what most people including me depend on. I am lucky enough to be able to pay my mortgages even though I’m not able to keep the land with the help of family. It’s practically impossible.
I have lived in East Oakland my whole life. To the majority of people, the mention of East Oakland evokes thoughts of violence, shootings, and gangs. I was one of the people who believed in these stereotypes, and for a particularly long time. I was one of the people who saw Oakland as a wasteland, a place with nothing to offer me, and a place I had nothing to offer to.
She presents a logical and well-reasoned analysis of the cultural changes in California and their broader implications. By grounding her claims in facts and historical context, she appeals to readers' intellect and encourages them to consider the validity of her arguments. Furthermore, Didion evokes pathos through vivid descriptions and emotional language. Her use of sensory details and emotive words elicits an emotional response, prompting readers to engage with the essay on a personal and empathetic level. Through pathos, Didion taps into readers' emotions, encouraging them to reflect on
I drive my white Nissan maxima over the speed bumps probably a little too fast as I leave the parking lot. Once I reach the stop sign, I take a moment to turn around and look at the beautiful school building behind me. Rigby High School—I can’t believe I go there. To me, that beautiful building is almost as breathtaking as the work out I just finished; running over and over through the halls of the school because it’s too cold to run outside. What used to be a small school when I was young has seemed to grow to be competitive and quite big, and seems to grow bigger each year.
When I contemplate about my years at Pine Forge Academy I realized that I had numerous fond memories. "Little Lake” was a factory that made redwood patio furniture. While on the bus to Little Lake I recall how the group of students would make up songs to sing and how fantastic we sounded. I remembered the long days and how many of us would return to the campus covered with wood shavings. I reminisce on the many summers that I did not return home for summer vacations.
Alameda County California. I grew up in Oakland, California and went to Franklin Elementary School. When I was in the 5th grade I moved to Hayward California and went to Eldridge Elementary School. As a transfer student, I felt different from everyone else and my learning abilities were different. I learned quicker than others and was more intellectual than they were and because of these things I never really had friends.
But I thought I was going to Cajon high school. But rather my father arranged me to go to a different school called Aquinas. I hadn’t even considered going to a school like Aquinas. Adjusting from public school life to going to classrooms where there are only twenty people to a classroom and the sports teams are run like military camps. It was my first summer going into high school when I started to receive e-mails from the football, basketball, and baseball coaches to report to varsity practice in a week.
“I’ll come back to visit sometime,” is what I am obligated to tell to every single one of my friends I made. Since I was young I never had trouble making friends, but keeping them was a challenge to me. It wasn’t because I was mean or because I didn’t want friends, it’s because I moved around a lot when I was younger. I was born in Fresno, California, but then I moved to Mexico at a really young age so I was raised there until I was five years old.
Kansas Bound On May of 2010 I went to Kansas City, MO to see my Grandma. This was my first long car ride since I can remember , nine hours going speed limit. First, we were in the rough side of Kansas, mostly because we lost signal and got lost. We couldn’t look out the side of the window or there was a fifty fifty chance we may or may not get shot.