Autobiography As the removal men arrived to move all the packed cases and the box's which were filled to the brim. I had spent my younger years in that house, I can remember all the good times, and I can see all of them in my head. D-day had finally arrived! Time had flown and I couldn't believe it had gone. It seems just like yesterday that the house was complete with people I loved the most, but now it just seems so blur a particular recollection of the past. I stood alone in the centre of the living room, I only remember seeing an unoccupied house that was so silent that I anyone could hear a pin drop. With my eyes firmly shut I try to remember all the things that happened to me during my occupancy in the house. Some memories are good and others not so good. Every room reminds me of a story, a story of my life changes and what was to happen in my future. As I approach the kitchen, I can see the cooked products my mum used to bake. The smell of the fresh bread baking, the mouth-watering curries were simply divine...
Imagine your first home. The place where you lived right after you were born. Where you took
but I still miss being with my old best friends who I grew up, and spent most my childhood with. Thanks to technology I am still able to keep in touch with them through Facebook and Skype.
In the summer of 1998 my family fled the newly created independent country of Croatia (Former-Yugoslavia) to the United States. My parents came here in hopes of finding a better life as the economy was still recovering from Croatia’s war of independence. We first settled in Amarillo, Texas for a few months. We traveled around the states for a year or so looking for other refugees. After some searching my parents decided to move to Connecticut as it offered the best incentives for refugees. Listening to stories about this time of my life has given me a chance to appreciate the help we received from various government programs that settled us, clothed us, fed us, and helped us become independent American citizens. Now I want to give back and the best way I know to do this is by teaching the future generations of Americans.
When that happens we slowly start to drift apart, a former friend is now nothing more than a memory. What is it that makes us stop communicating with each other? In my case it was a lifestyle change. My friend Kalicia and I were so close. We told each other everything. When I found out I was pregnant she was the first person I wanted to tell. At first she was beyond excited. I stayed with her and her family for the first half of my pregnancy. Then I moved to American Falls and everything stated to change. I was eight months pregnant when it all happened. Kalicia had invited me up to her house for my birthday celebration, but being that far along and having to work in the morning all I wanted to do was sleep. The next day, while I was at work she continued to call me multiple times, I knew something was wrong at that point. When I called her back she told me that her mom had passed out and stopped breathing. They had to do CPR on her until the ambulance arrived. I remember my heart dropping because she was like a second mom and I was so excited for her to meet my daughter. As I scrambled trying to get my shift covered so I could leave, I got the call that she had passed away. I remember that day like it was yesterday, the sky was dark, everything seemed grey, and heaven had gained another angel. I had never met such a vibrant and enthusiastic woman. She was understanding of every situation. Soon I felt
My mom always told me about the story of my birth. It was the cold, blizzardy night of January the 4th. She had been in labor for nearly 24 hours, and when I was finally born, she was happy to have a son. Up to this day, she jokes that I have been stubborn since before I was born. That was the first story of my life, and you can bet that there were many more to come.
house. This way of narrating it is very opened to us, and makes us feel like we
What comes to mind when you hear Rock ‘n’ Roll? It is the upbeat tempo with drums beating a harmonic tune, the electrifying sound of guitars and of course the singers, making music that connects to your emotions.
For many years I would pass by the house and long to stop and look at it. One day I realized that the house was just that, a house. While it served as a physical reminder of my childhood, the actual memories and experiences I had growing up there were what mattered, and they would stay with me forever.
classmates and teachers and most important my Grandmother. I have said goodbye to the past,
Music can makes us feel different type of ways and it could also provoke on us different type of emotions. It could go from happy to sad, or to angry to mad. Since we were born we have being listening to many different type of music . Music is really related to us and our culture. Music can even be used to define us. Music has the ability to change many different situations. There is music for literally everything. For any specific occasion no matter what is there is music that goes with it. In my opinion Without music this world wouldn’t make sense. Music is so interesting and amazing that I can 't even imagine being without it.
I grew up as a Southern Baptist. My family has always belonged to the same church and to this day my parents and my brother’s family still attend First Baptist Church in Forest City, North Carolina. One of the reasons Baptists are given this name is because they are not baptized as infants, but when they are old enough to understand the full concept of Jesus and the sacrifice He made for us. I accepted the Lord as my personal savior when I was thirteen and made a public profession of my faith by walking to the front of the church one Sunday morning. Many factors in the past have influenced my relationship with God and continue to do so daily.
I grew up in the 80s (born in 1977) and while I am sure that era impacted me in more ways than I am even aware of, I think that it was my own personal home life that set me on my current path. My mother was much older (she was 40 when I was born) and only had a 6th grade education. My father was 19 when I was born and had his GED. They had a tumultuous relationship for obvious and private reasons. They divorced when I was seven years old and I remained with my mother. Both parents worked in manual labor type jobs—my mother cleaned houses and my father repaired mobile homes. Neither knew how to be parents. My mother was an alcoholic who, I now believe, was also bipolar, and my father was just
As I look back on my childhood a great number of memories hide in my mind; sleepovers with friends, hanging upside down on the monkey bars, eating ice cream are but a few. The one memory that doesn't hide is of the postcard perfect house that I love and adore. From the hearty cattails and rose brown apple trees to the grilled cheese, this place reminds me of my childhood fun but also the love that my whole family shared. The red brick house and its surroundings will keep my memories forever.
grandmother’s house because it made me feel safe and warm. There was a smell of
My aspiration toward a better education starts all the way back to when I started school in Russia. Out of the short educational experience that I had in Russia, I remember that almost everybody wanted to be the straight-A student (or straight-"5" by Russian grading). That, combined with the constant pressure from my family helped me get excited about school and made me want to learn. My education in Russia was cut short, however, when we moved to the United States.