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English, 09.10.2019 22:30 gamingisfun

Stranger in the village personal essay.
proof-read draft #2. you.
true- story. : )

every house i ever set foot in, the years went by quicker than we imagined. my parents looked for new jobs so we move to every job, which is why we move every two years. every school i went to i made less and fewer friends. so there was no point in having memories in a place that you will soon have to leave. i’ve been to nine different schools, and all were very different. the first school i went to was by the name of alta loma elementary school. i made friends that were known as outcasts. i was never loud, always quiet. i kept to myself, and i made very few friends. i learned growing up with them, that no matter what you look like you should never judge another person by their appearance. the first time i met them, i knew they were different, one was handicapped, another was deaf, and i was the new kid. i learned from them, the struggles they had to deal with throughout their life. my second school, foothill elementary school, i was more outgoing, more willing to speak, and i always had at least one best friend wherever i went. i had a friend, but he too was bullied. as time went by, my schools became just a phase of mine to not have any friends at all. making friends and moving on, never really saying goodbye meant too much hurt for me. as i entered high school, at cortez high, i did not only find my group of misfits, i found happiness. i was happy to them, and not worry about my problems in the end. i was there mostly for them, and them making me feel better about myself every day. during sophomore year i realized i had to move on past the group, and meet new people. slowly day by day i would stop looking for them, or even sometimes hide. i felt bad, but i had to stop getting emotional over them. one day i’m going to leave, and when i do they’ll realize that little by little i was getting away from them. so i don’t hurt them more on the day i do leave. during junior year i was now at a new school. a new town, by the name of florence. i moved from glendale to a whole new place where i didn’t want to be. it was the last two years, and all my friends were gone. i was by myself, with just a family of six, and no phone to text my friends. in the first week of school, i was very unhappy being here. i have an attitude, and i didn’t want friends, not again. on the second week of school, i gave up. i started opening myself up. i talked to people, and i observed and learned from others. i realized it’s most likely if i make any friends at all, it would be just for that year and then move again. i enjoyed hanging around the outcasts. not because i was one, but i never judged anybody, but everybody always judged me. the outcasts i spoke to or barely even knew were somehow connected with me. i listened to their problems, i gave them advice, and things always turned around. they were always either happier around me, or just happy to see me. i always made their day. sometimes i didn’t know what i did, i would just sit near them. accompanying them was good enough for them than talking most of the time. people talk about me all the time, i don’t blame them. i could care less what they think. my friends one by one would point out the students that talked bad about me, at first i was upset, i told on them after i watched the videos of them recording me, and later the talking stopped, or so i thought they did. i really felt like a misfit. i do the things i do because sometimes i don’t have a choice, and others because i made a bad decision that leads to the embarrassment i had to deal with at school. people give me attitude, and or just want to speak to me. based upon my appearance i seem poor. others say how i wear the same clothes and never change, maybe i don’t have to listen to them, but it’s nice to know they should get to know me first before judging me. i don’t mind wearing the same clothes, they’re clean and they fit, and they are nice. i am a very caring person, and i get judged a lot. it’s time for my senior year, to be better. i want to graduate, and work, and do the army. in my career, i will be happy, and i again will be another stranger in another village.

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Stranger in the village personal essay.
proof-read draft #2. you.
true- story. : )
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