Personal Narrative-White

White. The color that represents openness, cleanliness and purity. At that age, I admired all of the white surrounding me in that hospital and awed at how fascinating and different this setting was compared to the normal, everyday places I visited. I was sitting in a chair with my feet dangling and swinging back and forth, just like what every five year old would tend to do. Next to me, sitting in the vast hallway, was my cousin who was the same age as me. We laughed and played joyfully as we waited for my parents who were in the room next us. The door was closed which created a barrier that shielded our eyes from what could’ve been on the other side. At this time, I thought hospitals were places where people went to get painful shots or where …show more content…
I skipped school to take my behind-the-wheel drivers test. Both of my parents came to support me while my body was crawling with nerves. I didn’t really drive often before this so, I didn’t really know what to expect and felt like I would make dumb mistakes that all older, experienced drivers knew about. I’m not going to go through the whole processes of my test step by step because it’s pretty self explanatory, but long story short, I got my license. While all my friends had their own cars, I had to drive my dad’s car which is a 2014 White Toyota Highlander. It wasn’t a bad car, don’t get me wrong. I just wanted to have a car of my own to brag about and customize myself. My parents and I were all in the car on a weekend afternoon when I brought up how it would be really convenient it would be for me to have my own car. My dad had work at nine pm and I had lacrosse practices at 7pm and it seemed like I had to race home to catch him and I wouldn’t be able to go to team events. It was also hard for my dad to go run errands on the days I had plans with my friends since we shared one car. My dad and I had to relay the car around all day like an endless race. Being the mother that she is, my mom felt the need to teach me a life lesson or make me realize I was grateful for even having a car to drive. She usually did these things because he …show more content…
I can feel it popping through the layers as I hold one of my friends hands tightly. I can feel the sweat between our hands and I squeezed tighter and tighter after every tear and tug. I was lying down on my right side on my other friends bed. Being rebellious seventeen year olds who weren’t legal yet but determined to “look cool”, couldn’t fathom to wait another year. We spent the night at one of our houses and gave each other stick-and-poke tattoos. This is when you tie a small needle against something you can hold and control, in which in our case, we used a pencil. You spin thread around the needle and the pencil and then you dip the needle into a jar of ink. The ink then gets sucked into the thread which can probably get you three to four pokes befores dipping it in the jar again. Why did we decide to do this that night? Maybe we were bored or maybe we just really couldn’t wait, but I knew that I wanted to do it. This feeling may be worse than getting a tattoo with an actual machine because the process is so slow that you can feel the needle being pulled out as your skin follows it making some sort of a mini mountain. I remember it being the most painful thing that’s happened to my body other than the time my lower lip got busted open from a teammate elbowing me in the face during lacrosse practice which, of course, hurt like a bitch. Blood was dripping down my face and I could feel the gash as I licked my lips to