Essay PreviewMore ↓
She went to the land of Hollywood with a diamond wedding necklace hanging loosely from her neck like a noose before it gives its snapping goodbye. She went to the land of dreams with pride coloring her shadow; a haughty swing of her thick plait; and why not? Her name was Serina –she was named after a dream.
Why not? I thought, though I cried the night before because she got the chance bestowed to her curvy hips, her white Colgate smile, her crystal blue eyes. And what about me? What about me. I have never had the smartness of a woman.
I envied her from the day I realized that looking pretty was more important than being rough. I had always been good in games, in fighting, in being well… rough. When we were much younger, I used to bully her so badly that she never joined in any of our games. She became a weak ghost, a girl who was just that…a girl. No more. Well I… well; I was more of a boy, a fighter, someone who laughed when the mother advised the daughter to wash her hair with herbal shampoo to make it shiny and black as coal. I ran after kites and learned that slamming the flat of your hand into someone’s face is much more effective than curling that same hand into a fist. I learned that one should never box someone with the thumb hidden inside the white-knuckled clench of a fist. I learned that if someone digs at your eyes with two fingers, you could just bring your flattened hand vertically up at your nose, and whoever’s fingers however long, would never reach your eyes. I learned that being flat was more beneficial than being round.
The day I discovered that I was turning round, that my legs could not carry me fast enough, that the boys I used to beat up now towered over me; anger glinted inside like a raised knife waiting to fall. From then on, I stopped fighting with boys and started fighting with girls instead. I could have died for my gang - a group of seven girls who knew that their only honor was their strength.
One day my friend was walking down the road after a harvest party with a cup of alcohol made out of rice gurgling in her stomach. She bumped into an older woman with a baby clinging onto her hip; and the woman turned around and told her to watch where she was going, if she wanted so much to bump into somebody, why not pick on a boy and not a woman with child.
How to Cite this Page
"Personal Narative- Tough Girl." 123HelpMe.com. 22 Jan 2019
Need Writing Help?
Get feedback on grammar, clarity, concision and logic instantly.Check your paper »
- Personal Narrative- Varsity Volleyball I first started playing volleyball at a very young age. I was in the seventh grade when my volleyball career started. My sister started playing in the seventh grade and I just wanted to follow her footsteps. My seventh grade year was ok because I had just started out and really didn’t know the game. There was A team and a B team, where A team was better than the B team. I tried my best to be on the A-team, but guess where I ended up, on the B team. No matter what team I was on I never gave up.... [tags: Personal Narrative]
512 words (1.5 pages)
- Personal Narrative- Moose Hunt It was the middle of October, and it was finally time for my long awaited moose hunt. I have waited ever since I was a little girl for this opportunity, and it was finally here. So, my father and I packed up our stuff and left the warmth of Phoenix. We were leaving the "Valley of the Sun" and headed for a place called Wyoming. After two days and fourteen long hours of driving, we made it to our hunting unit. The mountains were tall (11,000 feet +) and covered with bright powdery snow.... [tags: Personal Narrative]
2038 words (5.8 pages)
- Personal Narrative- Amazon Experience Being a curious little twelve year old who was eager to discover the world, when my father asked me back in 1997 if I wanted to travel to Colombia, I jumped on the opportunity. Little did I know just how much I would be discovering. Colombia held sights, sound, and smells that I had never experienced. Crowded city highways with no marked lanes, the stench of lead exhaust filling the overcrowded streets of the capitol, the freshness of the Andean Mountains filling the country air.... [tags: Personal Narrative]
1043 words (3 pages)
- Personal Narrative – Life in Jesus Life. My life rests in the glory of Your son. As it sets behind the distant trees across the lake, You spill Your love over me in the brilliance of the sunset. Reds, pinks, blues, oranges, and purples blend to create a sight beyond my human imagination. Streaks of color illuminate the sky above me and reflect in the lake's still waters. A rugged cross stands with such strength in front of the sunset in remembrance of the One who died to grant us such beauties.... [tags: Personal Narrative Writing]
481 words (1.4 pages)
- Personal Narrative- Knee Injury I was always an active person from being in sports to hanging out with friends. I always had something planned, or came up with something on the fly. My junior year in high school was a very tough time for me. I was involved in a lot of activities, organizations, and clubs. I was very active in one organization where I had to be up at school every morning at 7:15 for that meeting. Meaning I would not leave school sometimes until 6:45 to 7:00 in the evening. On the weekends I would have something to do either with friends or family.... [tags: Personal Narrative Essays]
551 words (1.6 pages)
- Personal Narrative- The Admirable Villain Days of Our Lives isn’t the same without Stefano DiMera. He was the puppet master, the vile wire that tied the colorful characters of Salem together. He was the one who erased John Black’s memories, hypnotized Dr. Marlena Evans into being his love slave (leaving her vulnerable for possession by the Devil), convinced Hope that she was Princess Gina, swapped Hope’s baby with a fetal-alcoholic crack baby, and convinced John that he was the father. For the past few months, Stefano has been “out of town,” and Days has degenerated into every other soap opera: a dreary, never-ending cycle of sex, secrets, and heartbreaks.... [tags: Personal Narrative Writing]
1417 words (4 pages)
- Personal Narrative- Curiosity and Me How many people wonder about holes in the ceiling and cracks on the floor. When did they happen. What caused them. Or what about when you see a cigarette in the toilet and wonder who had the guts to smoke in the girl's bathroom that day and why they chose that brand of cigarette, or why they even smoke at all. And even if people do think about these things, why. For what purpose. I guess I do it out of boredom. But is boredom really an excuse. I mean, really, how bored can a person get.... [tags: Personal Narrative Writing]
1314 words (3.8 pages)
- Personal Narrative- Cousin's Death It is amazing how many things we take for granted. We make plans for the day, and don't think twice about how those plans can be taken away in the blink of an eye. I never thought much about it myself, until I was faced with the shock, and undeniable truth of my cousin's death. I don't think anyone really thinks about tragedy until they are actually faced with shocking news. My mom had been going to school in Greeley and staying at my Aunt Margaret's house .... [tags: Personal Narrative Essays]
1688 words (4.8 pages)
- Personal Narrative- Career Goals My parents often remind me of how difficult it is for minorities like us to earn respect from the community and enough money to raise a family. They encourage me to strive for the best by being selfish and competitive against my peers rather than enjoy what I like which is to interact with people. My mother wanted me to become a doctor because it is a well paying job and my father wanted me to become an entrepreneur because I would have been able to gain respect from the community.... [tags: personal narrative essay]
761 words (2.2 pages)
- Personal Narrative- Race Wait. Be still. Don't go over the line. Don't let go. Wait for it. "BANG!" My reactions were precise as I sprung out of the blocks. The sun was beating down on my back as my feet clawed at the blistering, red turf. With every step I took, my toes sunk into the squishy, foul smelling surface, as my lungs grasped for air. Everything felt the way it should as I plunged toward my destination. I clutched the baton in my sweaty palms, promising myself not to let go. My long legs moved me as fast as I could go as I hugged the corner of the line like a little girl hugging her favorite teddy bear.... [tags: Personal Narrative Essays]
1229 words (3.5 pages)
A gang of young girls met a gang of married women on an open field. They swore at each other across the field, draining their vocabulary of all possible provocative words. Then they ran at each other. One group slammed faces with the flat of trained hands. The other tried to box with clenched fists, thumbs hidden in…at least that was what we expected. But no, both groups used the flat of their hands, both groups were equally trained, both groups were down on the ground before a batch of nearby factory workers separated bodies that grabbed for each other like angry magnets. That was the day I realized that those married women had been like us once upon a time. It was only the glass bead necklace that made all the difference. From that day, I promised never to enter a fight again unless I wanted to make a total fool of myself.
We were playing a game of volleyball in our town school. A group of soldiers were staring at us from the barracks adjacent to our school. I felt anger at the leering stares; while I pulled my shorts a little lower down my hips so that they touched the top of my knees. Then I rounded in my shoulders so that they hid the roundness of my chest. Just as I realized that though flatness was more advantageous, roundness would be with me my whole life; I saw Serina at the edge of the field, leaning over the fence to receive a red rose from the best looking of all the soldiers. She was smiling, saying something while flicking her black hair away from her face with a flat hand. I realized that there were many ways to win, many ways to use a flat hand.
I did not see the compact white roundness of the volleyball come flying towards me. By the time the other girls screamed words of warning, I had turned my face away from the fence just in time to receive the full force of the ball smack in the middle of my forehead. Roundness introduced herself to me the way I had always wanted – with a punch. They say I blacked out after that. The only thing I remember is waking up seeing nothing but the white sun and thinking nothing but that Serina had listened to her mother and washed her hair with red mud, making in shiny and black as coal.
Somewhere between feeling the volleyball slap my forehead and waking up thinking that Serina had washed her hair with red mud, I realized that I had missed something in life; that something had zoomed past me with the speed of a taxi, and I was left behind choking on the hot fumes.
Serina came to school everyday on the arms of a boy, the same one, a different one; I could not catch up on the latest news of her life. She gained popularity so fast; my previous gang friends joined her company. They started looking at boys themselves. They began smiling, talking, giggling, slapping back loose strands of hair with the flat of hands. They started washing their hair with herbal shampoo.
A week ago Serina took off with one of her boy friends. "Eloped" – the news came in the form of hot speedy gossip. Everyone else’s question was "which one?" My question was "how?" Some said it was the one who dropped her off at school in his brand new BMW. Others said it was the one who bought her a new mp3 player. No one said how.
Two days later, another piece of gossip fired through our tiny town – Serina has been left at a cheap hotel, it screamed in bold letters, she has been left at a cheap hotel in Las Vegas. The boy only pretended to fall in love with her. He asked her to marry him. He said he would take her to his rich house in Hollywood. She flicked back her shiny and coal black hair and thought she would finally be out of here. She would finally show all these people who she really was. She would no longer be bossed around. She would finally be somebody. Her shadow colored with pride.
At first I cried because I had not learned how to become a woman. Then I cried because Serina had not learned how to become the right type of woman. I cried for her as I fought. I cried for her future as I broke my promise to myself. I cried for the man who sold her as I broke jaws with the flat of my hand.
I have earned a black belt in karate. I have fought with men. I have won national tournaments. I have fallen in love. In a month’s time I am going to start hanging a diamond wedding necklace about my neck. What I will do with that necklace – that will be the hardest fight of all.