Personal Narrative: Gangs And Firefighters

On the streets of Chicago gang violence is common. 72% of people who die are murdered. Children everyday are affected by this atrocity. Schools are filled with drugs and violence. This was the everyday life of me, Jazmine Harper. My 18 year old brother Demaris was in a gang, the Reds. My mother was a construction worker and my dad left me the day I was born. My family lived in Riverdale, one of the most dangerous neighborhoods in Chicago. Things haven’t really changed since I left.

There had been a few events throughout my lifetime when I was little and had me feeling mentally most of the time since I was young. One of those that occurred when I was living in Stockton, Gang members would come up to me and try to convince me to join their gang and stuff I didn't really know that much of gang activity back then I mean i seen some gang getting in fights or doing drive by shooting down my street I didn't really like the violence. One time I got moved to this one School I didn't really like it to be honest I kept it real with some people that was cool with me all the rest I didn't like, there was a group of kids that was in a gang that me and my boys didn't like one time I went to the bathroom and all of them came in together and jumped me… That's when I started hanging out with my boys that gang bang because I knew they were going to be the only ones to get my back for me plus they were like family to me and one time we found them hanging out so me and my boys were ready to fight them so we did, It felt good getting them back for jumping me till my boys started coming up and started bring out weapons that's when I was like thinking I should stop hanging out with them because I can see myself later on going to jail for weapons charges, Drug possession, assault and battery.

It all started with me trying to get into a gang. I was 12 and there was a local gang that all the boys my age dreamt of being in. Their leader, his nickname was Squints, was tough. There was about 9 of them at that time. When I asked him, it was at the local gas station.

A reason that the people of Honduras should be supported is because the average annual income is around a meager 580 American Dollars. According to the CIA World Factbook, “Honduras is one of the poorest countries in Latin America and has the world’s highest murder rate.” This means that most Hondurans don’t have money to buy food, let alone personal transport,

We were all seemingly unstoppable, as if any incredible force couldn’t possibly pound us straight into the dirt, just like frail, puny ants, no matter how hard it tried. There were sixteen of us, each with our own viewpoints on the true ’concept’ of a gang. To me, a gang is just a group of people. With a different gang comes a different goal. To others, a gang is a just gathering of kick-ass individuals, who will participate in rumbles and kill without batting an eyelash. Despite being in a gang, I’m not like that at all. Sure, I do join in on the occasional fight or two, but death is a serious matter to me. I don’t want to die, so I sure as hell know that others don’t want to die, either. Some talk about not being afraid of Death himself,

Gangs are one form of interference with the American dream. First of all, the issue of the American Dream. What is it? It’s wanting wealth and luxury, a greed or lust for vast wealth and a lavish lifestyle. Then, of course, is the question of: how are gangs preventing people from getting into that lavish or luxurious style of living? Not to mention, how can this be prevented from happening?

"Smooth sailing from here folks. Sorry for the stir up," A very familiar female voice apologized to the Credos. But the passengers were so shaken up. Malikai sat still,

After about thirty minutes in the car, I started to feel sea sick. I rolled down the window to vomit, that’s when my aunt pointed to my grandmother’s house. “There it is,” she said. The street my grandmother lived on had one street light in the middle of it. Her neighbor’s houses were built three feet off the ground, to avoid being swept away during hurricane season. The roofs on the homes were made of zinc, and some of them even had outhouses. When I walked into my grandmother’s house, I saw her in the kitchen making panades. The kitchen smelt like fish, and onions. Her back was turned away from me, keeping one hand on the counter and the other in a bowl. I called out to her, and she turned around. Before giving me a hug, she said “You must be hungry. Look at you, your so thin. That’s not healthy.” She must have thought my mom wasn’t feeding me “I eat, grandma” I said, “and yes, I’m starving.” After eating dinner, the weather started to cool down, and I was long overdue for a shower. I went to my room, grabbed my clothes and hopped in the shower. In Belize, you never knew when the water and power would cut off. Since they got their electricity from Mexico, outages were common out here. I was in the shower for about three minutes, and all of a sudden everything turned off. The bathroom went dark, and the water trickled out of the showerhead. “Why!” I

I felt the eye of judgment piercing through me as I entered the plane. I could hear people whispering and giggling. While scanning the rows to find my assigned seat, I could see the looks of concern from those who thought I might sit by them. The clicking sounds of seat belt buckles almost sent me into a panic. I was dreading asking the flight attendant for a lap belt extension, or worse, having it offered without asking. Words were not necessary to feel the intensity of mass criticism. To make matters worse, it was a hot day, and my clothes were sticking to my body, outlining my multiple layers of over-indulgence. I was overheating and could taste salty beads of sweat trickling down my face.

As the ground that looked like square plots on a large map just a few minutes ago came into view and as the engines reduced power and the landing gear was released, the pilot monotonically roared on the loudspeaker “This is your Captain Varun Shah speaking. We will be making our decent into Ahmedabad International Airport in approximately three minutes. Thank you for flying with Air India.”

During spring break I decided I wanted to go to Nicaragua with an organization called Christian Activity Center. Last year I wanted to practice my Spanish. They also wanted me to practice, and learn more about networking, business, get new experiences, missionary work, and to compete in MMA. That night I remember not sleeping so I could fall asleep on the flight there, but I fell asleep at two in the morning. I was lucky I set an alarm because my mother was catching up on her rest and was tired from helping me pack. I reluctantly rolled over out off of the bed with crust in my eyes. I woke up that day around 4:00 am to drive to Chicago, but first we stopped at the Christian Activity Center which was ten minutes away. I thought the ride to Chicago was not going to be that bad since we rented a van. I sat down and looked back at my mother as she waved goodbye from the other half of the window. Before we made out of East St.louis I was already asleep, the ride took 4 to 5 hours with one stop. Once we arrived in Chicago, my friend shook me awake. As we stepped out of the car we heard the airplane roaring through the sky like thunder in a storm, but slice through the sky like a knife through butter. Once our chaperones paid for the rental car we headed for a bus that would take us to the airport. Once we arrived we had an issue because the company’s policy changed involving carry on luggage, which almost prevented us from getting on the airplane. Before we headed to the line and

My sister, dad, and I get on a plane and head to a town in Colorado called Steamboat. On the plane ride from St. Louis to Colorado, I look out the window to see a mass of mountains become closer and closer. The plane ride was short and easy. We head out of the airport and to a rental car dealership. As we walk out, we pass sparkling Christmas trees, and menorahs placed all around the crowded airport. We wait for a bus to pick us up and take us to the rental dealership. Around the corner I see an enormous green bus make a wide turn to meet my family and others. We get on and the young bus driver gets up from his seat to take my suitcase and put on a shelf with many others. We sit down and the bus begins to move away from the airport, a small baby wrapped in a blue and yellow quilt could not stop wailing. Before I knew it, I 'm stepping off the bus and into a plowed off section of a parking lot. A man greets my dad with a handshake and asks, “This is the McCarthy family right?” We all nod in response. “Right this way”, the man says as we follow him down the long rows of shiny rental cars that glisten from the snow. He shows us a gray pick-up truck that will be easy to get up the mountains in. He talks to my dad about the policies as I hop in the car. I get myself situated before the three hour car

My journey the day I left my home country in search of a better life was not as pleasurable or exciting as I expected. Although it was not a long flight, the accumulation of unexpected vicissitudes during the trip made my dream of traveling an absolute nightmare. Not only my sadness to be leaving my family behind, the uncertainty to fly alone and for the first time, or my inexperience with the procedures at the airport contributed to this calamity, but even my neighbor on the plane added his bit of sand in the affair. All this situation was such traumatic to me that I even considered never daring to fly again.

My Story: Dark blue, painted the sky. I was feeling a sense of euphoria as well as a sudden urge of nervousness. Very lightly, the plane hit the runway like a snowflake. It was the month of December 2007. We picked up our bags, eager to get out of the plane we had just spent sixteen hours in. I cautiously walked down the narrow aisle of the Boeing 747, soon stepping down the abundant, steep, steps of the plane. The stench of the humid, heat-filled texture of the air took me away. It was different. Was it a good kind of different? I didn’t know. My dad grabbed my hand, after placing a disney-themed lanyard that held my address, and home phone number along with my grandparent’s address and phone number over my wonderstruck-filled head. My

The air was clear and the weather outside was warm. As I was looking around outside, I noticed there wasn’t much green in the Middle East. Probably because it’s mainly desert like, but I saw lots of sand dust, rocks, stones, small tress, burnt grass and a lot less green in nature than what I’m used to seeing in America. We were stuck with a room outside right across the old poor house. The small room had a tiny built in restroom without a shower. If we needed to take a shower, we had to go inside of the house. I was not happy at all with that. I kept telling myself “Only for a few days.” I felt desperately homesick. We went and placed our luggage inside of the ugly cracked room. Then we headed to the house. The house was small and the living room didn’t have any furniture. Instead of couches, there were mattresses on the floor. There was no dinner table. The food was just placed on the floor on top of a plain flat sheet. Although the food looked delicious, I had to sit on the floor and eat instead of a chair and a table like I always do. I sat down eating uncomfortably. Two minutes into dinner, one of the ladies started laughing at me and noticed I couldn’t sit right and eat. She told me, “Nora, you never sat down and ate on the floor before?” I replied, “No, I am not used to this. My legs will become numb.” Then she told me to sit on the only bed they had in their home, which was right behind me. I sat on the bed with great relief. I was delighted because she talked to me