Personal Narrative: My First Day In College

The memories of my first day in college are deep buried not only in my head, but also in my heart. There are well reserved in both conscious and subconscious memory. They remind me of the Passover, when Jesus broke the bread, and then blessed it. They also trigger my Sunday school memory of Jesus feeding five thousand people with a meal that was meant to be a small boy’s lunch. Feeding a multitude after breaking only five small loaves and two small fish, packed in a preschool lunch box, and managing to have twelve baskets of leftovers. I felt so heart broken after waiting for four and a half hours to see my academic counselor, the only person in the whole wide world who had the key to the door that was calling me to become an academician, a journey I am walking step by step, slowly but sure. I had recruited all the English I had learned in Mexico, where I was born and brought up, but when I spoke to the counselor, I assumed that he was pretending he had not heard a word I had uttered, and my Adam’s apple was pumped with a hose of frustration, and I could feel it, in front of my neck. As really as usually is, luck at this moment as on my side. The girl behind me became my Interpreter Unlimited, and I started imaging

After the clarification, in slow motion, I started feeling the load that was on my shoulders was becoming lighter and lighter. One of the most fascinating thing was that there were only eight parts of speech to master, in order to become eloquent in English. Had anyone asked me before then, I bet I could have said there were tons of parts of speech in English. Before I retired to bed that night, I did all my English class homework assignment, and I also typed and printed a page, not only for each of my four bedroom walls, but also one for my ceiling, with the following words, “Eight parts of speech in eighteen weeks of a