In this blog post, I’ll be talking and exploring in to my Memoir Project and explaining how my narrative allows me to travel into my brain, heart, and nerve thanks to the help of the three videos that I’ll link below. I’ll also be explaining how I have the power to author my life-story and how what shapes our sense of identity.
My narrative makes things much easier to travel into my brain (mind) both then and now by the way that it allows me to think back on what I thought of the situation at the time. When it first happened, I didn’t know what to do and I was confused even. Thinking back on what happened now I have a completely different outlook on it in terms of mental health and how I would’ve much better dealt with things now compared to when I was much younger. I’m sure that goes for most situations though. I can find myself traveling into my heart (emotions) by how back then I was more so upset about things that I had no control over and I didn’t know how to control them. I was full of sadness and anger, while now at my much older age I have little to no emotion about the subject due to how often it would happen, but I still find myself getting upset whenever I do think about it in detail. At this point, I have a better understanding but I’m still very numb to the subject. Regardless, I think it’s healthy to look back on the past and gain an understanding of my feelings and let them out from time to time. My narrative shows risk by showing a more emotional side to storytelling, which is what I believe to be extremely important when you first write a story. I know that conflict has to happen for there to be a story so I decided to write about what I felt fit best from my life that has a lot of conflict. I’m shown by my writing that I can author what happens in my life. By this, I mean that I took the time to educate myself on mental illness. Like said in the video, it wasn’t enough for me to just want to see change but that I actually had to force and want the change of my life for myself. Wanting to change the way I see things about my life at home couldn’t have been changed if I didn’t have any sort of desire for it. Finally, I think the stories we tell ourselves about life events are what shapes our identity. My reason for that is because you could tell a story in a majority of ways, you might take the story in an angered manner while if it happened to someone else they might have taken it in a saddened way. In my mind, everyone is always going to have a different outlook on certain situations. The way you might feel about one situation will always be slightly different than someone else. Of course the events that happen to us are definitely a big part of what makes you, you.. but at the end of the day, the way how you take that event and whether or not you decide to keep pushing on from what happened is what truly shapes yourself.
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In this blog I’ll be discussing the first time I went roller skating! For my English Composition I class, we had to read Hills Like White Elephants (Ernest Hemingway) and connect ourselves to an emotion in the story. In the story, I really connected with the woman when feeling frustrated. My dad would often tell me when younger about how he would go skating when he was my age with friends. Even now he still brings up stories every once in a while about how great of a skater he used to be(and still is). Hearing him talk about it so often inspired me to want to become a good skater one day too. I’m pretty good now, despite this I still have a lot of work to do until I get to the point of where I want to be. I wasn’t always this good of a skater though, the first time I went skating things were really rough. I had asked my dad to go, and after a bit of research online I found us a skating rink we could go to. It was a chilly winter day, and after pulling on my orange sweater we were out the door. I was filled with nothing but excitement and I couldn’t wait to get to the rink. It took us about 30 minutes to get there, and I ran inside the building. I was met with a wild set up of colors, lots of purples and yellows splattered along the wall and an odd smell of sweat that filled the air. The carpet had a print that was confetti all over. Despite the tackiness of the display, I was too excited to let something as minor as that stop me. After paying we made our way to the side to get our skates. It didn’t take me long to put them on and my dad was pulling his on as well, he was going to be the one teaching me after all. Let’s just say, I definitely underestimated how different I thought skating would be. It was much harder than I thought it would be.. and I wasn’t even on the actual floor yet! By the way I was wobbling, you would’ve thought I was trying to imitate a baby deer. My dad took me onto the floor by my hand and I asked to go to the wall to hold onto it but he shook his head. I remember him telling me, “how are you gonna learn if you hold onto the wall the whole time?” At the time, I was kind of upset but now that I look back on it I’m glad he told me that. If he didn’t give me that word of advice, I’m almost certain that I wouldn’t have had the self motivation to push myself into learning. “Alright, alright.” I mumbled to my dad, and almost instantly after pushing myself off of the wall I slipped and fell right onto my back. I remember a little girl coming up and asking me if I was okay, so I guess I must’ve fell pretty hard. The few hours that we spent at the rink, I had fallen at least more than twenty times. My dad kept attempting to encourage me, telling me specifically to get back up and keep on going. The darkness of the rink followed by the bright flashy lights was exactly how I felt. The darkness represents my feelings of frustration and disappointment because no matter how many times I got back up I found myself falling again. The lights however, represented my passion for wanting to push myself to become comfortable with skating. Despite how dark it got in there, the light was never fully consumed by the darkness. It was time for us to leave, and I let out a big sigh on the way out to the car. “Did you have fun?” My dad asked. “Yeah, I did. I just don’t think I did so good.” “These things take time, you aren’t going to always get everything on your first try. You did really good for your first time here, these things take time after all.” Me and my dad found ourselves in the car, buckling up and ready to drive off. “Hey dad?” I spoke to my father. “Hey Des?” My dad responded. “Can we go skating again next weekend?” This is my third blog post in my English Composition I class. We had to read the short story My Name is Margaret (Maya Angelou) and link our emotions to the story. In this blog post, I’ll be discussing a time that I felt a great period of joy. It was just this last summer and it’s still very much fresh in my mind, I feel like writing about it will help me relive that week of my life.
Last summer, I was finally able to meet one of my best friends, Kristin. It sounds weird, but me and Kristin have only ever known each other online. Around the time when we first met, I’d known her for around eight years. You think we would’ve met up sooner, but with financial issues, me being too young to fly on my own, and so on, it never really happened.Before this, we were stuck with skyping, face-timing, and so on. This summer that all changed though. Around March, my dad informed me that he’d be buying me a ticket and I’d finally be able to see Kristin! The date for my flight was the 4th of July and me and Kristin were practically counting down the days together. Each day when we’d talk we would always bring up about how soon we’d be able to see each other. The night of my flight however, we lost electricity in my apartment. I had everything packed quite luckily but it was just extremely hot. I could barely sleep, I was tossing and turning the entire night. I even went with my dad to go sleep in the car because the heat was just absolutely suffocating. It made me upset, I even asked myself “Out of all nights, why now?” I wasn’t going to let this stop me though, I was going to see Kristin soon! Me and my dad were off to the airport. I was extremely nervous since this was going to be my first time in an airplane other than the time when I was a baby. I was boarded with a large sum of strangers, and we were off! I slept most of the plane ride, but it was amazing to see how tiny the earth looked from below. After a two hour plane ride… I was there! I was in South Carolina. I was so nervous, I could feel my body shaking with anticipation. As soon as we landed I texted Kristin to tell her that I was here. I couldn’t actually believe that I was going to see her in person. After getting off the plane and making a brief walk through the airport, I could see Kristin on the other side of a glass wall barrier! She was wearing a white tank top with blue flowers, light blue jeans, and her hair was lightly curled. When I walked through the doors and approached her, she pulled me into the biggest hug I swear I’ve ever felt. Kristin smelled like a light, flowery perfume and we stood there and hugged for a good minute or so. It felt like I was going to cry out of pure happiness. I was finally able to see my best friend! I remember the first words out of her mouth being “you’re so tiny,” which made me laugh. That week I had so much fun with Kristin that we’re actually planning a trip for next year as well! This is my second blog for my English Composition I class. I had to read and then annotate three articles discussing about the writing process. Here, I imitate three other writers and use three quotes from each of them. I’ll provide links to each of the writers, and I hope you enjoy my story!
----- It was a chilly Autumn night and with thanksgiving break around the corner I had just one last assignment to finish until I was free for a week… a good ole’ classic paper. My dad decided to drop me off at a nearby coffee shop to get a start on my writing since the WiFi was down back at the house. As I stepped into the shop and opened my laptop, I found myself staring at the assignment screen for a good five minutes. It seemed like the words were just jumbling together.. I had absolutely no idea where to start with this paper! It was like I had a billion ideas but no idea how to piece the words. I sat and tapped at my head, hoping that something would come to me but everything was absolutely blank in my mind. After peeking up, I approached the table of three adults that had been chatting for a while in hopes that they’d be able to help me out. Little did I know, these three adults were writers themselves- writers who would give me advice to write one of my best papers yet. These three adults were writers Don Murray, Mary Karr, and Anne Lamott. “Do you have any idea on how to start a paper off? I have absolutely no idea where to begin.” I explained to the group. “I wish I had a secret I could let you in on, some formula my father passed on to me in a whisper just before he died, some code word that has enabled me to sit at my desk and land flights of creative inspiration like an air-traffic controller.” Anne told me, and although a bit disheartened it didn’t take long for my spirits to lift up once more. “In the beginning, when there are zero pages, you have to cheer yourself into cranking stuff out, even if it later lands on the cutting room floor.” Mary Karr now advised me, which got my blood pumping again. It was a short quote, yet.. Inspirational. I turned my laptop, showing off what I had managed to write down so far. It wasn’t the best, and it definitely needed a lot of work. “Don’t look back. Yes, the draft needs fixing. But first it needs writing.” Don Murray now decided to pitch in a word or two about the subject, but I still had no idea on where to continue now. “Is that how first drafts turned out for you guys?” I asked, not wanting to feel left out. I usually figured that most people were good writers by default- that most people were able to write a good story without a draft. “I can honestly say not one page I’ve ever published appears anywhere close to how it came out in first draft. Mary added. “Very few writers really know what they are doing until they’ve done it.” It made me feel comforted to know that even the best of writers tend to struggle with the same thing I was going through too. “Prewriting usually takes about 85 percent of the writer’s time.” Don spoke these words, and it made me think that maybe I shouldn’t stress so hard that I didn’t know where to start. It was best to take my time. “Well, I just want my writing to be perfect. I wish I could write like the big authors and really impress my teacher. The big writers just seem absolutely.. Perfect.” I figured that they would probably be able to relate to me, but man was I wrong. “ There are no rules, no absolutes, just alternatives. What works one time may not another.” Don finished. “Besides, perfectionism will ruin your writing, blocking inventiveness and playfulness and life force.” Anne gave a smile to me after finishing and pat my back as if to encourage me. “None of us can ever know the value of our lives, or how our separate and silent scribbling may add to the amenity of the world, if only by how radically it changes us, one and by one.” Mary ended the conversation, and I stood from my seat to thank everyone once more. It was time for me to leave as it was getting late and I had to go back and prepare myself for the next day. When I got home, I had such a burst of inspiration. What I had written in my notebook, my teacher regarded as my best draft yet!
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Destiny MillerI'll be using this page to place my blog posts throughout my English Comp. I class. Archives
December 2019
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