I’ll never forget the day I gave birth to my son. It was an early Sunday morning and just two hours before I had dozed off into what was probably the most sleep I could get given the pain I was to experience over the course of my entire body. One of three nurses that attended to my care had been assigned the graveyard shift. She was quite young and expecting a baby herself. Her name was Sarah and I decided to concentrate on that to help ease the pain. “Sara. S-A-R-A… S-A-R-A-H… S-A-…” before I could continue, yet another contraction was brought on, induced by the gentle means of mother nature and the cool dose of Pitocin I felt flow hastily through my veins. When it came time to push, Sara’s nursing assistant wrapped an oxygen mask around my face, the dense air leaving me woozy and disoriented. I remember feeling as if I could dig through every crevice of my being without any chance of recovering the last bit of energy left in me. It was then and almost instantaneously that my body entered a sort of rhythmic response appropriate only for it’s purpose on this day; and as I fell into a pattern of gentle inhale, followed by a fervent exhale downward, I quickly became run-down and exhausted. An hour passed wherein a teeming city slowly began to fill scorching city sidewalks in a dash to evade daily commuter hassles, and in a way, I myself hurried to meet the counterpart my body had protected and nourished for the past nine months, all the while depleting reserves of iron and whole love, and with that thought, I found my heart grew ten times warmer the very moment I heard a cry I knew could only belong to my first-born son. When I first found out I was pregnant I was a high school senior having just returned from what I still consider to have been the best summer vacation of my life. I set my alarm for 4am on a cool Monday night and awoke Tuesday morning to a saccharine sun-kissed curtain shade my parents had bought me just months before as a sort of “room-warming” present for my jovial attitude in regards to our most recent move. I wasn’t yet used to being up so early in the day, as my school day started at 11am only the previous year. My boyfriend and I agreed we’d meet at our usual spot, the brick stairs under the two maple trees we sat under when we first met. When I got there, I noticed he had one hand ready to greet mine and the other behind his back. A few minutes and a short kiss later we both walked into school, my arms wrapped around his waist and a beautiful bouquet of a single red rose and a beady-eyed, sky-blue teddy bear inscribed with the words, “I love you.” It was the perfect start to a new school year, and as our first English, Physics, Psychology test passed, so did our time and our adolescence. As a few months passed and nightfall began earlier and earlier on in the day, Hurricane Sandy had just hit and we found ourselves in the midst of our biggest argument. Having not been the exultant week we hoped for, Mohammed and I found ourselves hot-tempered and barricaded in a room of our closest friends on a cold Halloween night, candy and ignorance having been just a few of the things we’d collected, we sat and talked until our inhibitions lowered and our masks fell. By the night’s end, we had decided on breaking up and never speaking to each other again, our faces noticeably heavy with wear, and mine with tears. I remember feeling so helpless that night, and that that only made the walk home so much harder to bear. The constant bickering between us having proved too much on me those past weeks, my schoolwork had begun to suffer and I felt more alone than ever on my way back to what should’ve felt like a warm bed, but was instead an enormous pillow I would use to scream into through many sleepless nights. Halfway through the next day at school, I had an aching pain on the right side of my lower abdomen, a sensation like that of a needle being jabbed into my hip bone. I didn’t know what to…
Michelle E. Diaz
ENC 1101 - 189381
November 3, 2014
Narrative Essay Revision
Resentment: Self-Inflicted and Self-Cured
Overcoming an obstacle doesn't mean that certain events have to stop occurring so that it's classified as overcome. I was once told, “Life is ten percent what happens to you and ninety percent how you respond to it.” I believe that to be 100% correct. I was raised in a culture where the man of the family, the father, the husband, holds the utmost authority and responsibility…
The transition of a high school student to a college undergraduate is a life-changing experience that most youths go through. The course that led to this transformative event began on the first day I entered high school. Attending a technical school for four years was the best decision I could have made. It prepared me for the real world while simultaneously providing me with the skills needed for college. My first year in high school was like moving into a new city and trying to…
A couple of years ago, I was mowing the lawn in my grandmother’s backyard. It was extremely hot and the sun was beating down relentlessly. Then all of a sudden, I spotted an object under the six inches of grass. I picked up the faded pink object only to discover that is was a monkey. Not a real monkey, but one of those monkeys from those Barrels of Monkeys. At that moment when I first realized that it was a monkey, I immediately thought of my grandfather…
DESCRIPTIVE VS. NARRATIVE:
WHICH ONE IS BETTER?
ENG121: ENGLISH COMPOSITION I
MAY 25, 2014
DESCRIPTIVE VS. NARRATIVE : WHICH ONE IS BETTER?
Descriptive and narrative writing are both two different styles of personal writing that are used to enhance a writer's portfolio. When looking at descriptive writing, a person is using words that describe a person, place, thing, or event to paint a vivid picture to their audience. Narrative writing is when a person…
In the narrative, Shooting an Elephant, George Orwell shares his personal experience of a moral challenge he has faced. Orwell was an officer in a poverty infested place called Burma and was hated by many of its citizens. Burmese people saw him as an evil white imperialist. But one day, when a raging elephant tore through the Burmese town the citizens looked towards Orwell with burning eyes that persuaded him to shoot the beast. Every inch of Orwell’s body…
after night, I would take stacks of storybooks to her, and while I sat in her lap, she would read them to me. As a result, I learned to read at the age of five. I am a visual text such as comics and graphic novel.
4. In school I use to writing for an essay and at work like a nursing field I use writing report. Also I use email, text and chart.
5. I am a dissertation. Because I don’t really like discussion with classmates I think I can’t talk enough or share ideas with others. I like to my own when I…
Abukhalaf /Picture p 1
Freshman Writing, Block 4
By Summer Abukhalaf
“Meet with us in science after school, okay?” Maggie says.
“Okay, let me call my mom and tell her about it,” I say.
I know my mom will never let me walk with my friends to go to someones house.
I’m so excited to go trick or treating with my friends. This year is supposed to be
absolutely perfect. Eighth grade is very important. It’s your last year in middle school…
“Paper #1 – It’s a girl”
The narrative story called “The F Word” by Firoozeh Dumas talked about she came to America when little and all of her family had some exotic names. Firoozeh was so embarrassed of how people used to change her name because they were not able to pronounce it on the right form. Firoozeh could not even find a job just because of her name. Firozeeh finally changed her name to “Julie” even now her parents did not want to. Firozeeh changed her name, and after that she finally…
Essay #1: The Narrative
The waves crashed down at a velocity only measurable by Mother Nature plunged me down into the abyss of the ocean floor. Her volume and mass of water tossed me around like a pin ball bouncing off rubber paddles. I helplessly squirmed around trying to find my sense of direction. Thoughts of accepting a trophy, coated with a glazy gold plastic dip, on a podium at the Olympics ran through my head as I demonstrated different variations of underwater cartwheels: one handed…
Narrative Essay Examples
In a narrative essay you tell a story, but you also make a point. So, it is like a story told for a reason.
Narrative Essays: To Tell a Story
There are four types of essays:
•Exposition - gives information about various topics to the reader.
•Description - describes in detail characteristics and traits.
•Argument - convinces the reader by demonstrating the truth or falsity of a topic.
•Narrative - tells a story, usually from one person’s…