Personal Narrative Analysis

I have a shelf in the corner of my room that houses more memorabilia. There is six trophies for piano concerts that I performed at in high school. Piano was a huge part of my childhood. I started playing when I was six years old, mainly because my sister took lessons and I was jealous and wanted to be just like my big sister, until I was 17 years old. My grandmother, Elizabeth but we call her Beegie, took lessons with me every Wednesday. She also bribed me to practice for at least 30 minutes everyday with ice cream. At the time I dreaded doing this, but once we got to playing I always enjoyed being with her. Looking back on it now, I value these moments with her greatly. Each year my piano teacher would organize a recital for all of her students

I’ve always had some stage freight whether it is public speaking or performing, but after each time I played, my family was so proud of me and I always thought “why was even scared in the first place”. Without a doubt, the same fear came back each year. Additionally, there is about ten silver bowl trophies that I received for various placements in competitive sailing regattas. These are a reflection of the activities that I was involved with. This is the material culture that is different from person to person. For example, in my mom’s room she displays aspects more important to her: photos of my siblings and I, her parents, and her siblings. My brother on the other hand has about 30 boxes of shoes stacked up to the ceiling in the corner of his room to keep the shoes inside them intact because that is what is important to

More often it is in a constant state of chaos. My dirty clothes in the corner, instead of in my hamper. My clean laundry, before making it to my closet or dresser, are often found in a pile on the left side of my bed, so that I can still sleep on the right. I assume that most people don’t live in such a mess but I wouldn’t know. Stacked in a pile to the left of my dresser is a hodgepodge of notebooks, papers, and binders from high school, that for some reason I can’t seem to throw away. Most notably is a folder with large notecards taped into it. This folder was a french project that we each made throughout high school. It has every verb we ever learned, vocabulary and culture. I always dreaded making this as my homework, but now I can’t get rid of it. This folder reminds me of my french class in high school. We were very close and considered ourselves a family. We had a “culture” party each Friday, where if you brought a food or desert, you got an extra credit point. Additionally, since I organized these parties each week, I was voted french class president. These parties not only bonded the students closer but the teachers too. Today, I still visit my high school each time I visit home, specifically in search of my French teachers, Madame Avari and Monsieur McCarthy. Other people may keep some sort of old schoolwork in the room that is a reflection of which