Olivia Pugh

Personal Narrative

October 8, 2019

A tale of two countries

Walking around the markets I saw produce from every color of the rainbow and

understood absolutely nothing anyone was saying but felt a sense of comfort. I went to the

market place once a week and it brought me absolute joy, at one of the produce stands I helped

clean the apples for an older gentleman always gaining a free fruit of my choice at the end. I

often think back on this memory and wonder what happened to that kind man. When I first

moved to Virginia Beach from Italy I was eight years old. I had visited America once a year and

was around American kids as I lived on the navy base in Sicily. As far as I can remember the

kids on the base were nice, the environment was positive the base was its own little world. At

the time the gated housing and minimal shopping options were what I knew as normal, little did I

know what was coming for me when I got off the plane to start my new life in Virginia Beach.

The new place I called home was like nothing I had ever known before. We didn't live in

a gated community and less than a mile away we had multiple grocery stores to shop from that

wasn't the commissary, not to mention the number of food options to pick from. That summer I

spent getting accustomed to my new environment, but nothing could prepare for what came next,

school. Starting off my third-grade year with one friend, I struggled to keep up with the class as I

learned different things than my peers the year prior. The Curriculum in Italy was not the same in

math, writing, and history. I sat in class the first month and felt like an alien who had come down

from mars speaking a completely different language than the others. (Insert something about my

teachers) Fourth grade was a critical year of my life I had met a group of girls who quickly
became my best friends and I was passing all my classes with honor roll. This year was the year I

started to change I became involved in petty drama, cared about what others thought about me,

and dressed not for myself but to be cool to others. From a young age, I was morphed to think

about what others see and follow what the “cool” people were doing.

The sad truth is, is that I carried these thoughts and actions with me throughout middle

school and most of the high school until recently. Recently I have learned that none of these

things matter. The summer before senior year I did a lot of growing I became confident in myself

realizing that I am different. I have my own quirks, I dress for myself, and I like the way that I

am. The truth is being authentic, is better than being like everyone else. It has taken me a long

time to come to terms with myself and the person that I am. I think back to that little girl in Italy

and how happy and carefree she was and strive to be like her again.