Defining Self :: Personal Narrative Essays

Defining SelfI am from blonde ponytails and twirling party dresses, From leather seats and from the scent of public transportation. From wholly religions From all races I am from the fruit stand on the corner, from the flies napped away by an Asian man I am from atomic number 99 30 th Ave, between 1 st and 2 nd . I am from the laces of pointed shoes and the burning stage lights, from the hum of a bright crowd, from the perfect kicks of a chorus line. I am from stacks of proposals and rows of numbers, from multi-colored paperclips, from a rubber band ball that really bounces if you throw it, from a believe of Hudson Bay, from Lady Liberty. I am from an address my parents did non share. I am from a white sailor hat, the sand, and salty sea. From Tollbooth and hurdles. From a assort just my height, from never beingness right. I am from trying hard, from being scared, from always being right behind, from loving every minute. I am from a tall, cold, moving truck, from the sting of cardboard box paper cuts, from hoping zilch material was left behind. I am from a nose touch against a steamy window of the gray Honda. I am from good-bye. I am from the sidewalk where riding a bike alone is allowed, from scramble knees, and Band-Aid brand to cover up the scrapes. I am from two revolutionary additions that fight and hit, from the number changing to five. I am from new dapper shoes, from warm sweater-worn arms pushing me through the door. I am from stumpy paste and construction paper. I am from the founding sisters, from playground gravel, and from snacks of juice and crackers, from Dixie cups with colored dots, from holding small thin hands, from Kleenex boxes, and from strawberry jam. I am from long sleepovers, from covers pulled over frightened faces, from a baby boo hidden in the closet. I am from blushing cheeks and secrets revealed, from long promise conversations, from nosy questions. I am from an old Coke bottle go around on the floor, from shaking hands and nervous laughs, from thudding hearts, from trying to typify cool about it all. I am from raging fights, from words not meant, from scratched out yearbook pictures, from a long letter, and from one I never wrote. I am from the confusion of a double family, from cheeks hot with frustration, from a soft pillow.