Personal Narrative: My Car Driver

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I had always thought of myself as a careful driver. I followed the rules, I paid attention to the road signs, and even came to a full stop for the stop sign. I read every page of the driver’s handbook and passed my license test with flying colors. Every single one of the dozens of scenarios in which my life hung in the balance somehow always involved my sister being behind the wheel. But on that snowy Tuesday in March, I found myself in one of those situations and this time, I was behind the wheel. And in the few minutes that my car was speeding out of control, my perspective on life had also taken a complete turn. I am a first generation student in America. Through my parents’ hard work and dedication I was given opportunities to do things …show more content…
My first swimming lesson ended prematurely with me grabbing onto my instructor’s arms as I kicked and cried hysterically. My ballet performance was more of a circus, having shown up on stage wearing a ghastly cerulean tutu while sporting the ever famous bowl cut. During one of my karate lessons, I was nearly knocked unconscious by a parent during a karate demonstration. I stood in front of my entire Chinese class, red from head to toe with embarrassment, because I forgot my speech. And after my car ran into the curb, I had nearly lost my life for not having braked before turning as my father always told me. I had always read about the first time going swimming, about a child’s first ballet performance, about the mental and physical difficulty of learning karate, and how to drive a car. But despite all that I’ve read before, as John Keats once said, “Nothing ever becomes real ‘til it is …show more content…
The car was a complete wreck and it could barely drive, let alone in a straight line. My phone had died just minutes before. There was nobody else in the car and worse, it was snowing. Cold and alone, I was sure this was what my life would amount to. Thankfully, my car had ended up in a pocket neighborhood, and fortunately there was a family in the nearest house who had offered to help. Calling my parents and thanking the family for taking me in, the reservoirs of memories was broken and a suppressed flood of bad experiences surged into my mind and I was drowned in a torrent of memories. Memories that had always been meaningless to me but now, had never been so

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