Personal Narrative Analysis

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If you were to peer from the outside and look into my life, at all of my progressing moments and experiences, you would see a broken home with fragments of pain and hurt left scattered about, but you would also see that none of those enormities would ever once reach me. The hurt and the pain could never transcend across the barrier that was built around me, because that barrier was constructed of the only entity capable of repelling such ache, and that was love and wholeness. This love and wholeness was what I was born into: my family. My family is where I belong and where I came from. Although I grew up in a place where I was accepted, there was always the intrinsic knowing that a person can be a color of many things in this world, they could be labeled every noun and boxed into every characterization in existence, but would you ever think you would associate yourself as a refugee, as homeless, as a fatherless child, as impoverished, and the most detrimental, not smart enough? When I look at this list of descriptions that communicate who I was and am, it is at times difficult to comprehend that it actually happened to me; that my intelligence was belittled, that I was driven from my home because of my origin, that I was abandoned, and left without a home.

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