I turned 25 this past week, it was a good birthday. I got to spend time with my family and friends. I received a really great birthday present from some really great people. I have been wondering what this new chapter means for me. Mostly, I am excited to put all my new knowledge into practice. I looked back and realized a few things that have changed about me..
I now prefer a fruit smoothie to a rum and coke;
a platter of roasted vegetables to any kind of roasted meat.
I love the sunny and the rainy days so that everyday is a beautiful one.
I try to look at the things I do have so that there is no room to focus on the things I don't have.
I prefer my men spiritual instead of rich, gorgeous, or well meaning.
It only takes a good 15 minutes of sunlight on my skin to relax me, instead of a blunt.
Life is good. It's so good. I do well to remember the the lessons I have learned and how far I have come. I'm still walking, still growing, and still changing; as well as I can help it, that will never stop. I have evolved even more rapidly over the last couple months and though it was rough on me I see even brighter and clearer now. I thank all my mentors and teachers for seeing through to this point. I'm an adult and no, my age doesn't determine that but I feel like I have moved passed adolescence and have become a beautiful woman from the inside out.
Peace and love...
Sunday, June 26, 2011
Thursday, June 2, 2011
My Art
I haven't written in a while, I've been going through some changes. I have taken a seat in front of this computer and started writing many times but didn't finish until now...
I recently realized I was an introvert. I used to think of introverts as the quiet shy people we all come in contact with daily. On the other hand I thought of the extrovert as the loud one who speaks to everyone in passing. It never occurred to me that there is a middle ground for both and that I stand there, slightly less outgoing than I thought. Given my preferences for quiet (alone) time, I am introverted. I love to be left to my own devices, peacefully meditating on my own thoughts both fact and fiction.
My father is a really gifted artist. My big sister is a great writer and about as creative as they get. My oldest brother a math genius. My younger brother has many talents, I couldn't list them all. My little sister can play more than two instruments and can draw just about anything. Even my extended family is full of singers and writers; artists of various kinds. When I was a teenager I realized that my greatest gift was my imagination.
I have been writing since I was seven. I was sent to my room for getting in trouble on the school bus, alone in my room, I wrote a song about it on the back of my sister Falon's paper Barbie. About the same age I would sit at the kitchen table and watch my oldest sister do her homework. The way the pen moved in her hand was captivating. I loved the way her letters curled and the way the ink moved effortlessly across the lines of her notebook paper. I don't know if she made good grades or if she really put herself into her assignments but I do know that the art of her penmanship made me want to write. It was on the blank canvas of the lined paper that I started to diverge my deepest thoughts and dreams. As the words became more and more familiar I developed a love for them. The way they looked on paper, the way they sounded when spoken, even the origin and the definition became colorful to me.
Almost anyone who has known me over the last ten years will tell you I've never been fighter. A punch you in the face, drop kick you in the mouth, beast of sorts; but I would hurt your feelings. I will use my words to make you wish I had broken your arm or ripped out you hair. I'm past these malicious urges by now of course, but I say that to say that my writing has always been my biggest defense and shelter. It's been my companion on sad and happy nights; my go to when things seem off or odd.
I want to pour me out on to the pages. I want to see me in the loopy handwriting that Tasha and her daughters share. I've discovered so much love and meaning in this body of mine and I now feel obligated to share it through my words. Thank you for being apart of that, thank you for wanting to see my art.
I recently realized I was an introvert. I used to think of introverts as the quiet shy people we all come in contact with daily. On the other hand I thought of the extrovert as the loud one who speaks to everyone in passing. It never occurred to me that there is a middle ground for both and that I stand there, slightly less outgoing than I thought. Given my preferences for quiet (alone) time, I am introverted. I love to be left to my own devices, peacefully meditating on my own thoughts both fact and fiction.
My father is a really gifted artist. My big sister is a great writer and about as creative as they get. My oldest brother a math genius. My younger brother has many talents, I couldn't list them all. My little sister can play more than two instruments and can draw just about anything. Even my extended family is full of singers and writers; artists of various kinds. When I was a teenager I realized that my greatest gift was my imagination.
I have been writing since I was seven. I was sent to my room for getting in trouble on the school bus, alone in my room, I wrote a song about it on the back of my sister Falon's paper Barbie. About the same age I would sit at the kitchen table and watch my oldest sister do her homework. The way the pen moved in her hand was captivating. I loved the way her letters curled and the way the ink moved effortlessly across the lines of her notebook paper. I don't know if she made good grades or if she really put herself into her assignments but I do know that the art of her penmanship made me want to write. It was on the blank canvas of the lined paper that I started to diverge my deepest thoughts and dreams. As the words became more and more familiar I developed a love for them. The way they looked on paper, the way they sounded when spoken, even the origin and the definition became colorful to me.
Almost anyone who has known me over the last ten years will tell you I've never been fighter. A punch you in the face, drop kick you in the mouth, beast of sorts; but I would hurt your feelings. I will use my words to make you wish I had broken your arm or ripped out you hair. I'm past these malicious urges by now of course, but I say that to say that my writing has always been my biggest defense and shelter. It's been my companion on sad and happy nights; my go to when things seem off or odd.
I want to pour me out on to the pages. I want to see me in the loopy handwriting that Tasha and her daughters share. I've discovered so much love and meaning in this body of mine and I now feel obligated to share it through my words. Thank you for being apart of that, thank you for wanting to see my art.
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