Personal Narrative- Transformation from Child to Teenager Essay

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Personal Narrative- Transformation from Child to Teenager

Sometimes at night, when it is so dark the darkness becomes almost smothering, I lie awake listening to the cars outside and the endless crying of the baby next door. I think back through my life, to try and comfort me into restful sleep.

I remember summers from my junior high school days. The images are yellow, orange, warm, and happy. Endless summer vacations, the sun almost unbearable with its cruel heat. A time when swimwear wasn’t a terrifying thought, flabby thighs, and see through bikinis were things I was oblivious to. My parents were endless sources of ice-cream cones and drinks, not the embarrassing, overprotective people they have become.

Every year I would
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There we were at the coach station on the departure date. Armed with matching purses, our straw blond hair drew us together, a giggling, whispering bunch, the most devoted Boyzone fans. We were an endless source of lies. We were all orphaned quadruplets. We had been left millions and lived on our own with seven swimming pools with dolphins in. We were almost feminist in our approach to boys, the fat boy who dared to send Sally a love letter obviously had not realised the cruelty we were capable of. After arranging a secret midnight liaison behind the archery course we bombarded him with water bombs and cruel chants.

We were exclusive, we needed no-one else. We scorned at the other girls and made up secret names for them that kept us awake until midnight giggling. The entrance to our room was a taboo, out of bounds to anyone other than ourselves. A place where innocent inquiries could end up with your hand trapped in the door and friendly invites always had hidden agendas. A place where the boys from our group would congregate eagerly trying to guess the password and secret knock. They were a gangly, nerdy crowd, and were endless amusement to us. Toby mistaking the shower for a french toilet, Ben who cried constantly for no apparent reason and Mark the little, hairy one, an unfortunate target for our jokes.

I smile to myself as numerous

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