Memory #3

* I’m sharing memories I have. Memories are like personal stories. My mind is thus full of stories I want to get out before they are lost forever. Some are happy, some funny, some sad, but none should be forgotten. Plus they will hopefully provide ore insight to my poetry maybe even inspire more.*


Trust issues. Everybody has them to some degree. I can remember the first time I had my trust broken and it taught me a very important life lesson that still rings true: nothing lasts forever.

I was probably about 5 years old and I loved to do nothing more than ride my purple bicycle back and forth between my neighbor’s driveways. it would quite literally keep me busy for hours. I was proud to parade my bike around because I loved that thing. It was typical of a little girl bike. It was purple with white handle bars with the streamers coming out of them. It had a basket and a horn on the front ( both covered in flowers). I had a pink princess helmet. The wheels were white ( and that does include my training wheels)

Most weekends went the same. I would wake up, eat breakfast and tell my mom that I want to go ride my bike. Sometimes she would follow right behind me, sometimes she watched from the window as I would go back and forth until I got tired. I was on top of the world zipping back and forth, using my imagination (then everything changed when the fire nation attacked).

Then one weekend, just like normal, I told my mom I was going outside and she had decided not to follow me. So I go in the garage, get my bike and put my helmet on. Im excited as I start down my driveway. Only one issue: I only made it 5 feet before I fell over and started crying. I had no idea what had happened just that it had never happened before. Turns out my parents decided the night before that I didn’t need training wheels anymore so they just took them off without telling me ( rude). There was no warning. And what’s worse? Nobody followed me out side like ” but wait!” It was ” let’s see if she will fall on her face or not” (seems like a bad parenting technique if you ask me).

That is probably the most clear reason as to why I’m not very trusting of people. At a very young age, I was given a reason not to. Nothing truly lasts forever and not everything is in your control. It’s hard to tell when others are plotting against you. Even as an adult, I still find other people trying to decide what’s best for me, even when it isn’t wanted.

This story does have a happy ending though ( say what?). Yea. Eventually my mom heard my crying from the driveway and came outside. At that point I didn’t want to ride my bike anymore and was very mad at my parents ( I actually told them they had to buy me a new bike because they broke mine or at least to fix it). After a few days, I was forced onto the bike and did learn to ride it. Now it’s like my main means of transportation to get to work, where I make money and live happily ever after (just kidding. I’m in college. I have no money)



Memory #1

*I have decided to try something new. I’m going to start sharing memories I have. Memories are like personal stories. My mind is thus full of stories  I want to get out before they are lost forever. Some are happy, some funny, some sad, but none should be forgotten. Plus they will hopefully provide ore insight to my poetry maybe even inspire more.*

Sometimes I am thankful that the only time I was ever truly bullied was when I was very young. I was a strong 5 years old that could still bounce back. If it had never happened, I probably never would have survived high school. I would have been too protected and too sensitive to the things that were said in the hall. If you can’t laugh at yourself, even just a little, you’re doing life wrong. But back to the story that made me who I am.

I remember kindergarten was pretty much hell. I mean, going to school and being amongst strangers for any amount of time is scary, especially for young kids. I remember that it was extremely harsh for me because, simply put, I had no friends. It’s not that I wasn’t trying. My bully just was quicker at it than I. It was rough. My bully,( let’s call her Diane), and her friend ( let’s call her Kelly) were somehow able to get all of the other girls to turn against me. She didn’t have to do anything to the boys because they believed cooties was just about the most terrifying thing in the world.

After much work, I was able to befriend one person ( we’ll call her Jasmine). She was the only person who would occasionally talk to me or sit next to me on the bus. It was nice to not feel alone sometimes. Unfortunately, loyalty wasn’t a thing back then. Diane and Kelly were the popular ones and what they said goes. If Diane said jump, you jumped. If she said move, you moved.If she said, don’t be friends with her then that’s exactly what you did.  This unfortunately happened quite frequently. At the time, I didn’t really blame Jasmine. I didn’t want to drag her down with me. Besides, she was just following orders. At least she always said sorry to me. None of the other 9 girls n my class every did that.(rude)

There were many things Diane and Kelly did to make my life miserable, and I definitely did not make my life easier by throwing up on the story time carpet (important lesson of the day: soup+ spaghetti-o’s= a no-no). After that day, it mandatory by Diane that no one was to sit on the S s part of the carpet (It was an alphabet carpet. I threw up on the S so it sort of became my territory I guess). That was also the only spot anyone ever left for me to sit, so when I did, they’d point and laugh ( jokes on them, I had the best view of the picture books there).

She also would’t let my put my pencil case with everyone else. I often had mine in a section by myself. (I called it the V.I.P. section. aka Very Important Pencils). Occasionally Diane would offer to let me put my case near the other girls (this was usually when one of her little pose was out  sick) Usually this was followed by whispering and snickers, but I was too young to care. I just wanted to feel like I belonged. I was naive to think every time this happened, she had changed. That just was not the case.

The most specific memory that sticks out in my mind happened in April that year. It was warm and getting close to earth day. Our teacher was taking our individual  pictures to make into a craft project for earth day in class this day (I know because it still hangs in my kitchen at home). That day, I happened to be wearing an outfit my Aunt had made for me. It was very pink. It had magenta leggings with big roses, and a pink top with sleeves that matched my pants.( I should also mention it was a tank top, but met the school dress code.) I loved this outfit just as much as the other ones my aunt made. I was proud to wear and these girls tore me apart. They shamed me for showing my shoulders and breaking the rules ( that’s like a big deal to 5 year olds, or at least it was to me). And they were relentless. They were trying to get the teacher to get me in trouble (which wouldn’t happen because I was fine, but since Diane said I wasn’t, it must be true). I went home in tears that day and told my mom what happened and I never wore that outfit again because it haunted me ( still kinda does whenever I pour of cereal, just saying) with bad memories.

It did get better. I met my best friend to this day on the first day of first grade. I also discovered my love for music that year. Diane moved in the second grade and once she did, all the girls suddenly became nice and wanted to play and such. All in all it wasn’t that bad. Moral of the story: nothing everything that is bad now, stays bad forever. Just keep pushing forward. ( and also wear whatever you want. Nobody dares to mock my amazing peacock pants)