Personal Narrative Essay On Age 9

Age 9. Ahhh... The last single-digit age. The lovely age of 9 symbolizes the end of the young girl's childhood. It is when a young girl quickly learns to become a young lady. She will sit a little straighter, study a little harder, and pray a little louder.

Age 9. It is a time where she is given more seemingly minor responsibilities: more things to clean, more homework to do, more laundry to fold. No kid likes that, but "big girls" don’t cry. Instead, they tie their hair out of their faces, hold their heads up high, smile politely, cross their legs, and dressed to impress. This just wasn't me. My plain, monochrome sweats would hang loosely from my hip bones as my straight, long hair would cover my long face. To my family, this was a sign of disrespect. But it only showed how little they really knew about me.
It was a wall I built that separated me from the rest of the world. To this day, I do not know whether I was trying to keep others out or myself in. Either way, I pushed people away so far that I was not even visible at the furthest horizons. The golden rays of the dawning sun were so strong that the shadow it casted on my sister looked much like me. That's where I lived my life: in the shadows of my older sister... in the background of my younger brother. Always seen. Never heard. Never acknowledged. I guess that was fine with me. It was all I ever knew. With my sister always in and out of hospitals and my brother always needing special attention for his special needs, it was ironic that I felt like the burden. I just wanted a little attention but was too scared to ask for