Genesis

No one can really be sure why it happened, but it did. It wasn't easy for my mother to have children; I don't know much detail, but she wasn't very able to have kids. Not because she didn't like kids or anything of that sort. She wasn't physically able. Yet I am here. I wasn't adopted, for sure. I've seen the documents of my birth and even the video of me being born, oddly enough. And if all of that isn't enough, my appearance should tell all. They say I look like my mother mostly, and that I have my father's eyes. I myself do see my father's eyes, as well as his father's eyes. I'm not sure about the looking like my mother, though I do look like my mother's late brother. Of course, I'm speaking of my looks now as I enter late adolescence and early adulthood. Nevertheless, I am my mother's child.

I was born in New York (upstate, not the city). It is either unfortunate that I was born in New York or that I moved to a state of the South filled with people whose prejudice is flowing. Somewhere around the time I turned two, my parents decided to move to South Carolina. We lived on Hilton Head Island in an apartment adjacent to the beautiful Atlantic. More specifically, we lived at Beach and Tennis Resort where my father was part of security. It was in that apartment that I said my first swear word, learned how to spell my name, and dress up for Halloween as a character that affects my life to this day: Bamm Bamm. I don't remember much, but I do remember my first friend. Her name was Natalie. Her father was my mother's boss at a drug store that now no longer exists. I haven't seen her in years, and when I say years, I mean about 14 years.

Before I turned three, we moved to Ridgeland, South Carolina. My parents still worked on Hilton Head, but we had a house and property of our own. There's actually more to the story about the house and land we acquired, but it hadn't affected my life at that time. I didn't have any friends until sometime after I turned three. A family had moved across the street (if you could call it a street). My mother decided she and I would meet them. That was when I met my first best friend, Steven. For years to come, Steven and I would play at each other's house just about every day. We started kindergarten when I was four and when he was five, which is why I have been the youngest in my class every year of school of my life so far. We went to Agope Christian where I made a couple friends, one of which was my first crush. Before we graduated K5, my parents as well as Steven's took us out of Agope to be home schooled. Personally, I think it was because our parents were racist and didn't like that there was a black girl in my class; my mother swears she's not racist, but I don't believe her.

I was home schooled until third grade, switching back and forth between Steven's house and my own. My mother and Steven's came to us one day and asked us if we wanted to go to a real school. We were worried that we would have to take naps, but little did we know that it would have been great if we did actually have nap time. The school was Step of Faith Christian Academy, a school that had recently opened. When I began going to this new school, I also began going to the church that it was a part of, Great Swamp Baptist. I didn't like Great Swamp at first. I hated going to church in general, but my mother made me go to RA's on Wednesday nights. I was miserable there because all of the other kids picked on me. Some made fun of me because I was a Yankee and others did just because it was fun for them. They would always mess with me and physically abuse me, but it was the mental abuse that was a real issue. My mother didn't seem to care for my cries to not go to church. Even though I told her what they did, she didn't care, really.

My relationship with God began at an early age. I had grown up knowing He was in my life, thanks to my mother. That is at least one good thing my mother did for me; I'm not saying my mother never had good intentions, but the benefactors that came from her good intentions were rare and will be mentioned later in my story. I think God was like family to me when I was younger. I hadn't come close to understanding the Trinity, but I knew Jesus and God were the same person; I thought of Him more as a king than a savior. I saw Him as this ruler of the land, but I had no personal relationship with Him. God was like the President of the United States to me: important to my living, but no real relation to me. I hated going to church because I didn't think it was important. I didn't think I needed it, though I did.

I did great in school when I was younger. I made the headmaster's list each quarter in third and fourth grade. I didn't know how to keep my mouth shut though. I was a talkative little kid, like most, but I couldn't help myself. I'm sure it was for attention, which was something I did get enough of, but perhaps not quite enough for my tastes at that time. My mouth always got the best of me and I never thought before I spoke. My mother used to always get mad at me and so did my friends and teachers. Therefore I gave up on my attention. I figured that if I changed my habit of talking for attention I would receive even more attention and maybe they all wouldn't be mad at me. So I shut up. I don't recall what age I was when I started not-talking, but because I kept my mouth shut and didn't speak up I became a recluse and lost all social skills (or perhaps never developed any after having none in the first place).

My real story, the one that matters, actually starts here. It all begins with a dream...
I stand completely still in a trance at the sight around me. Everything is so dark, yet the day is bright and the sky as blue as it has ever been. I am in pain. I am suffering. But why? Everything is so perfect. I realize that I am standing in my back yard. I am behind my house and I see my swing set and club house behind it. The swing set is old and the color of the wood it was built from has faded since its creation. The club house that sits between two small trees beyond the swing set is dirty; dead leaves fill the inside and outside it begins to droop. My father built the club house with me. It was where I went to pretend and to dream. And so here I am, dreaming. I feel horrible. I feel like I am dead or dying. I ask God what is going on, and for once in my life, He answers me. He comes down from His heavenly post and speaks to me face to face. I can hear His beautiful voice. He tells me that I am in hell. He tells me that my sin has brought me here. He tells me I am dead. I want to cry. With Him so close to me I want to jump into His arms and beg His forgiveness. As if He could read my thoughts, He concludes His talk with me by telling me I have a second chance. He tells me that this doesn't have to be my end. With that He leaves and everything around me changes. The sky is as bright and as blue as it has ever been. My swing set is still sitting behind my house rotting, and the club house beyond that. I am standing in my back yard, and I am in heaven.
When I awoke, I prayed to God. I begged for His forgiveness. He accepted my apology and forgave me. He accepted me, like no one had before.

Introduction to: The Story of My Life

I've always wanted to write the story of my life. I've heard that writing things out, especially personal happenings, helps reveal things about one's self. Recently, I read something that moved me to write this. I'm writing this for myself and for you, my audience. If there's one conclusion you can make as you read the following posts, it may just be that I am an attention-seeker. I want you to read these. I want your attention. I want some way to be noticed, but I will not lie. I will not change the story. Of course things won't be exact, but I will try me best to make them so. And so in order to ensure that I have a large audience, I will be posting "The Story of My Life" on Blogger, MySpace, and Facebook. Maybe it'll be an interesting read. Maybe it will help you somehow. Maybe you won't care. Perhaps there really is no point in writing this. I feel badly enough that 50 percent of the reason I'm writing is for the attention. It's sad really.

Note: Names will be changed to protect the reputation and identity of those involved.

[Edit: Names will not be changed.]

To Truly Love

Love is a simple concept, yet we make it out to be so complicated. We sit here and try to figure love out instead of actually loving. In the English language, though, we have distorted the word greatly when it was already difficult to understand. When we speak of love, it could mean brotherly love, friendly love, or romantic love. Other civilizations were a bit more knowledgeable when it came to creating their language. They made sure the idea of love wasn't summed up in one word. It really is quite vague when I say something like brotherly love. What do you mean brotherly love? I mean love like that towards a brother. And how is love toward a brother? I honestly cannot go on; to explain it is beyond me. Most of us get the gist of what someone means when they say brotherly love. That is because most have siblings. I do not, however I believe I know what it means because I feel this love toward my best friends and some family members. I have a friendly love toward everyone, but don't ask any questions about that--that's a whole different blog. And I can say that I have romantically loved.
Romantic love is the one people find hardest to understand. Not it's meaning, rather whether or not they truly romantically love someone. Another way to say romantic love would be "in love". So then I should say: People have trouble understanding whether or not they are truly in love. My point in this is not to tell you how to fall in love but to know when you are in love. The only way I know how to explain being in love is by telling of all of the things it is not. 99 percent of the time, anyone under 16 has never fallen in love and doesn't quite understand love yet. No one will ever fully understand love, but some understanding is required to actually know whether you are in love or not. I am one of that one percent by a hair. I say 16 because I see it in most adults and people my age as well; this, i feel, is the time when we really begin to grasp love. My percentage could be wrong, but I don't feel like very many people at all do fall in love before 16. Young people get crushes, which are related to love in absolutely no way. Young people also become infatuated, which can become love if given time. To fall in love is probably something rare for us young people... but it is possible for us. Especially once we have been opened up to it. I don't know what else there is to say really, but when you fall in love, you completely click with the other person in every possible way or in no way at all. You love, simply, and truly, because you do.