In our literacy class this term, we had wrote an narrative essay about the Rite of Passage where it is talking about our becoming of age. This is the truth story of ourself, all of the experience that changes our life or thoughts of someone who we meet. My personal narrative essay is about the bond changing between me and my family after I left them for six years. In the essay, I tried my best to express my feeling in a writing form, in the story I mention about three body paragraphs that includes the question that my mother would ask me every single time that I went home, the time that my mother got her surgery, and the time that I feel I’m not a whole respectively. Our teacher, Cara, respect our story so she tried to teach us step by step to correct our essay. Everyday in class, she teaches on grammar rule and then she let us practice and then edit your essay at home; we learn about commas usage, parallel structures, vocabs development and more. I felt enthusiastic with this project, I learned a bunch of things that I don’t know about, but I feel better to express my feeling to the public.
“At the moment on the hammock, my mother was well, but as soon as I returned back to school, the family began to sink, my mom became ill and needed surgery. As I was sitting in my room at Liger, clicking away at my new computer, there was a sudden knock on the door with a harmful phrase that stated, “Visal, you have to go home now. Your mother just finished her surgery!” said one of the adult at my school. After hearing that news, the tears began to fall down like never before, and the enthusiasm of getting a new computer receded to a vanished point. I cried in silence where no one could see the tears, “Thank you for your informing me,” I replied with a soft and fake smile in front of the door at school.”