Personal Narrative: Homeless

From the start, I was a flower never meant to blossom. The soil was impotent, my seeds were hardly sowed, and no water cultivated me. It was a toxic concoction determined to have me wither away, but I survived. I survived the Spring, and I persevered through the Winter. How can I complain? After all, the abandonment was purposeful. A first-generation American of an immigrant family from El Salvador born into a class of poverty had no chance to thrive. Moreover, those with seeds akin to mine hardly grew before demolishing themselves. Like my mother before me, expectations were laughably mere centimeters off the ground: mediocre grades, delinquent dropout, a failure.

Therefore, it came no incredulous surprise to me when these mere “ideals”

Although I was discerned as having more intelligence than average in my first school, my family often moved around due to the insatiable rent prices in our area. Therefore, I landed in another school--one not so forgiving. From here, the unmistakable looks of pity were constantly directed towards me. The one look the teachers had at the color of my skin and my family history already--to them at least--determined the lugubrious future which awaited me.

Drop-out. Thief. Homeless. Addict. These words whispered to me in a destructive symphony of broken chords and created dissonance in my head. How could I blame them? An education for me was practically a waste of resources. In the end, they saw me as not someone who could reach a higher education, but someone who would infiltrate themselves in the world of dead-end jobs. I simply wasn’t worth the time of day. However, despite these cruel insinuations plummeting my way, I continued to thrive. I went against the expectations which were constantly shoved down my throat. To the awe of my mother and siblings, I studied diligently each night. I no longer wanted to be known as something less than I actually was. Furthermore, I wanted to be on par with my classmates without having to be acknowledged as the one who just couldn’t make it on

Gone were the stereotypes which seeked to rot my very core and attempted to disengage my growth, Moreover, gone were the doubts instilled in everyone 's minds--including my own. I may have been referred as an exception, a point which ruined the statistics, but I do not see it as such. In my heart, I merely broke the cement mold made for those similar to me. For what it’s worth, I am the result of drudgery, of sleepless nights, of constant discipline. In the end, I finally made it: top of my class, straight A’s. With my blood, sweat, and tears, I tore through the obstacle course which set me up for failure and ran past the finish line as if I was born for it. And, by no doubt, will I ever reject a round