Personal Narrative: Miriam High School
The balloons are out, the flowers are in bloom, I smell summer. I smell a summer like no other. Not because the groundhog came out early this year, or because I was one year older, but because I was a graduate, from Gilkey International middle school (finally). Sophie comes up to me yelling, super excited for the night ahead, graduation. As we rehearse our ceremony, in our high inched heels and dainty fake eyelashes Charlie runs up behind us screaming in our ear jumping us out of our own skin.
As a junior I moved from Ryan HIgh School to Braswell High School due to my zoning with the new school. Braswell High School was a brand new high school. I attended the first year it was open in which the highest grade level they offered was juniors. Most of the students moved from their old high schools to Braswell were devastated due to the strong school spirit at their previous schools. The administration at Braswell attempted to inspire new school spirit in all the students especially the junior class.
On Wednesday, February 1, 2017, Chino Hills High School was out of power, resulting all the students got released early. I walked into the school campus about to sit at the normal table that I wait at. I usually get to school thirty minutes early because of traffic. I did notice something was off when I sat down. The area where I sat was a bit darker than usual.
There it was, standing in the distance, a tall gloomy gray-colored building. With a few splashes of blue paint added to the dull cement to add color to what would otherwise be a lifeless building. This building was non-other than the one and only Stoller Middle School. I never referred to it as a middle school but more as a prison, it was full of rules that were put in place just to suck away any possible fun from a child’s mind. Maybe I didn’t like the place because I was suspended five times from it.
I entered Bishop Connolly High School in fear. I thought I would be drowned by homework, and I thought that I would find difficulty in finding friends. Those notions were not true. But aside from my fears for high school, I had an aspiration to become to closer to God. My family is religious, and I intend to carry the tradition to going to Church every Sunday and every Holy Day of Obligation, but there is more beyond going to Church.
High school was a roller coaster ride for me, from the endless fun of parties to the minor breakdowns and panic attacks that would land myself in the hospital. The pressure and stress got to me and the fact that failing out of the school that I’ve been going to for twelve years with long life friends was coming to an end. Now that I look back at it though it might have been the best decision for my well-being because then I would of not been able to meet the people that I met at Chamblee Charter High School. You would think moving from a private to a public school would be a big cultural shock, you are very correct. Atlanta International School, which was the school I went for basically my whole life, was a very open minded, well rounded, and accepting establishment since the most of the students where from all over the world.
Freshman year came along and I wanted to attend Sullivan High School. I wanted to come back to my hometown, I was just missing the people I started it all out with in the beginning. My dad and I had all of the paperwork finished already to go for me to attend Sullivan High School in August, but my mom refused and wouldn’t budge to let me go. She didn’t want me going to Sullivan, she wanted me to stay with all of my new friends I had made at Owensville. She thought my best bet would be to stay and proceed to go to OHS.
Friday night, around 12:00 am, Mason Stokes and Brian Kasaba were around a wooded, shallow grave area off Clemson road, when they saw the skeletal remains of a body, that was revealed by heavy rain, and eroded soil. Spring Valley Brian Kasaba said, “Mason and I were hungry, but my mom wouldn’t let us use the car, so we decided the walk to the store, and get some snacks. We took the back way to avoid crossing so many roads, and out of nowhere Mason screamed so loud. At first I thought he was messing with me because the area was suspicious, but I looked down and saw a bunch skeleton bones, and we both lost it.’’ With all the rain and flooding went on about five days ago, not many people have been on the roads.
During my elementary school time, I had learned that this world is full of competition and you have to act out in order to stand a chance. I was quite intelligent in my classes, especially on the subject of mathematics. While I thought nothing of it,as I was bullied for that reason, my teachers saw it differently. Then, during the 4th grade, my teacher, Mr.Green, had asked me if I would like to join the school’s math field day team. At first, I wasn’t so sure, but after a few days, I was now a part of my school’s math field day team, along my twin brother, Anthony.
I’m not an orator, nor am I a scholar. Though I do enjoy a good debate and engaging in intellectual conversations ; I feel like I am never “good-enough”. I always seem to find myself comparing myself to others. Whether it’s my grades or appearance. I never feel worthy.
Stumble. Survive. Create a new generation. The cycle of striving for perfection and purpose reveals itself to those who contribute to the heirs of the human condition, children, and I was one of them, quivering with a hand on my shoulder advising me on when to draw and how to breathe. As I cautiously signed my name to the organization which, unbeknownst to my seventh-grade self, would become my young legacy, my self-definition, I didn 't think about the many friends—rather, and pardon my cliché, family—that I would make.
When I was young, money was not a big deal when I asked for something. If I wanted it, I begged my mom to get it for me. I never understood why I was unable to get the new toy that just came out, or the new shoes that every girl was about to have on Monday morning when I walked through the doors of Gretna Middle School. The summer before I started middle school, I decided to join a volleyball team. Needless to say, I fell in love with the game and continually tried to better my performance.
When coming to Arcadia High School I didn’t know what to feel like, would I say frightened, worried, or energized? For this reason I decided that I felt confused. I was a bit stressed at the thought of getting bad grades. I entered school and saw what looked like a beehive of people going where they needed to go. So like many freshmen on their first day I got lost looking for my first class, it was such a big school and many of the halls weren’t even in alphabetical order.
I completed my placement hours at Northside High School. The population of the school is four hundred and seventy students. Of those four hundred and seventy students enrolled at Northside, 95% are White, 2% are Black, 2% are Hispanic, and 1% is Other. The percentage of students identified as living below the poverty index is 33%. Northside had eight class periods a day, which meant each class period was around forty minutes.
One time I came across failure. It all started when playing in a baseball game for Serra High School. Up to that game we had been undefeated in league play. As the game moved along it got more and more intense. Every batter and runner on base you could tell both teams were completely focused on winning that game.
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