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Frankie Kandaya Miss Eaker ENGL 1101-073 11 September 2013 Personal Literary Narrative

In my English classes, preceding my second grade, could be described as regurgitated information, topics, and those dreadful assignments. In comparison, I could tell you twenty new things I learned each semester, in my math courses throughout high school and college. In English class, I couldnt tell you what new idea or topic I have never endured prior. About eleven years ago, in the second grade, I begin to notice a pattern. The setting, public school # 38 in my hometown Jersey city, New Jersey. I recall it was a Friday and I was excited to start my weekend. Oh how I couldnt wait for the weekend. Friday nights full of my favorite TV shows such as Dragon Ball Z which depicts the continuing adventures of the protagonist, Goku and his companions to defend against an assortment of villains which seek to destroy or rule the Earth. Well before I could enjoy my childhood, we had a weekly vocabulary test. Every week, the teacher would allocate a certain amount of time, as well as homework, to do vocabulary assignments. These consist of the teacher giving, us about 10-20 words, and having us find the definitions, create sentences using these words, and learning to spell these wordsevery week, for 9 months. I hope now you can see my frustration. I have always strived to get the best grades in my academics so I made sure I studied the content. I recall that the room was arranged in a giant square, having the middle of the room

Kandaya 2 empty. The teacher, Ms. Harris, hollered There should be nothing on your desk but a pencil and a paper. So as I sat there, waiting, anxious, ready for the weekend it begins, Number one.Because! Ms. Harris yells. I quickly wrote on my paper. Number twoParade she continued. After about 30 minutes of testing, confident of my abilities and anxious to get out of school, I began to talk to my fellow class mates. Break the weekly routine so to speak, and engage in something that help past the time. I dont remember what we talked about, but I do recall it being funny, simply because my punishment included me laughing. After about 5 minutes of snickering to ourselves, Ms. Harris screamed Is something funny? Good because you could stay after school and laugh some more So at the end of the day while me and my companions sat there and watched everyone leave the class, Ms. Harris ordered us to stand in front of the class. So as we stood their staring bewilderedly at Ms. Harris as well as our teacher assistance, they began to speak. They stated that, the more we laughed, the longer we had to stay after school. For about 15 minutes, they sat there, making funny faces, and old lady impersonations to goad us to stay longer after school. Looking back at this event, I realize that I was being punished for being bored of the same old repetitive assignments and test during my class. Up until my last semester in collage English, we did the same exact assignments, which included vocab packets as well as vocab test. My next experience occurred about nine years later during my junior year in high school. It was another late night trying to finish a project. The project was a compilation of literary pieces which might include poems, narratives, prompts etc. So as I sat there trying to pondering on how I could make up a meaningless poem, I had an epiphany. In eight grade I had a very similar assignment. The only difference between the assignment I had in 8th grade and the

Kandaya 3 assignment I had to get done that night, was the one I had in 8th grade was strictly poetry. So instead of taking the time to invent more poems, or write more prompts, I decided to designate all my time, effort, and frustration finding those poems I wrote 3 years ago. Mommm!! I yelled yess! she responded Do you know where the poems, I wrote in the 8th grade are I dont know, check in the closet downstairs So as I flew down the stairs, I hoped that I could get this dreadful project over with and done. Sure enough, it was there, packed and a little blue cubby. As I looked though my 8th grade master pieces, I retrieved a few I could use to finish the project. The rest of the night I designated my time to edit and modify my poems. Preceding the day I handed in my project, I waited anxiously for my grades. Days past, but my anxiety didnt. When I finally got my compilation back, I peaked at the grade I received. It read98. I responded to myself Kaabooom. My last experienced occurred only a year later. It was about the time to take my SAT that I have been preparing for during the previous months. Many hours spent writing persuasive essays only to spend hours writing a persuasive essays. Well it was finally game day. As I stepped the out the house, I could feel the chilly January air crawl up my neck as I make my way into my car. In my mind, I am prepared. I have my caffeine, my calculator, and pencils. So as I arrive to the test center, I patrol the parking lot to find a decent parking spot. I quickly drank my caffeine and enter the testing center. The test instructor ordered us to clear out desk, bubble in circles etc. I just wanted to get started so I could finish. As I began the test, I felt confident on my ability to do well. The test reading portion of the consisted of a passage that I had to read, and questions I had to answer

Kandaya 4 afterwards. The math included various types of questions, keeping my mind focused and always thinking straight instead of in circles. Then proceeding the math section was the writing section, in which I had to write a prompt as well fill in a passage with words, or correct words that are in the passage. After the first hour and a half was through, I was in survival mode. As I stared at another never ending passage, the words danced away from my consciousness pulling me into oblivion. The caffeine high was slipping away from mind as well as the warmth from my body. At this point, I was bored, tired, cold, everything you dont want during a test. I was taking the test not to do well at this point, but just to finish. There were no more math sections to keep my mind firing, just a different passage, with the same directions. This by far, is the most extensively repetitive literary experience that I ever had to endure, and I to endure it twice. Prior to second grade, I was so stoked to learn how to read and write. I imagined how excited it would be to read, comprehend words, and write and express my ideas and thoughts through writing. Of course back then, my thought process was greatly simplified but I was more or less anxious. The reason for this emphases in my excitement was the simple idea that it was new, different, and a new frontier I could explore. It was the gateway to comprehend much more then what encompasses an English class. My instant infatuation of math and sciences were all made possible from the ability to learn to read and write. The problem arises when I began to realize that once I harnessed the power to read and write, the power of literacy, I began to notice a pattern that I observed in my English class that I didnt have to hurdle over in my math and science class, or even social studies.

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