Wednesday, February 22, 2012
Since I moved here a few months ago, I wound up only a mere 100 pounds do to stress and situational starvation(homeless at times). I've been in my new home for several months, the winter months keeping me inside more than I would like. In our time of relaxing and celebrating being together, my mate and I both admit that we have fallen far from our old routines and ways. I gained enough weight that I am probably now roughly 120-140 lbs. We don't have a scale so I cannot be certain. My mate has also gained a bit of his old gut back from being pure flat.
I know that there are many of you our there probably going 'oh, you should be glad you are that weight and not more.' Or even some of you are most likely like 'I wish I could be that weight.' I understand, but I have been tiny all my life. I grew up in a family that was all extremely over weight, because of that, my family members would mock ME for being small. I was 'anorexic', 'bulimic', I was 'scared of being fat', 'if you were overweight you would die.' The list went on and on. My family regularly mocked me for going to the weight room after school in high school or even working out at home. I wound up working out hidden in the confines of my bedroom with my door locked.
I wasn't honestly afraid of being heavy or looked down at them at all. I genuinely enjoyed the sensation of working out. I loved the feeling after finishing a punishing workout, I enjoyed feeling my muscles burn, the shortness of breath, I enjoyed watching my muscles stretch and flex, and I enjoyed the results I saw from it. I was never one for junk food, I dislike chips, I'm lactose intolerant so I stray far from ice cream, chocolates, etc. Overly sweet things I dislike, I tend to enjoy more sour things. I've always been very nature oriented and love healthy foods like fruits and vegetables. While my brother loved making sandwiches, I tended not to care much for breads. Growing up, I had a very healthy diet and it was simply natural to me because it was what I liked. While I was a high school-er I never got over the weight of 125, and it was mainly muscle. At one time I had a six pack even. I wasn't athletic, I hate sports, but I enjoy weight lifting.
I've never had a truly good self-esteem, I always see my flaws before my positive traits. I'm my own worst critic. For me to change from being the small size I've always known me to be to something else that ISN'T muscle weight gain, is hard for me to take. It wasn't helping that since being here 3 of my pants have ripped on me. True, they were probably 8 years old, but it still hurt my ego. It just made me feel like I was becoming like my family. I didn't used to have a problem, but I think now because of what I grew up with I do. I enjoy the size I am, and if I am not this size, I loath myself because of them.
I'm not here for pity. I've just needed to pour our my frustrations. I'm not one to see a problem and let it go. I realize I have gotten myself into this, I'm the only one I can get out of this. I watch what I eat, am careful to stop snacking on crackers and things throughout the day and striving to keep to only three meals. I'm also working out devotedly every single day. It won't be enough to keep me ready to run a marathon, but it will be enough to keep me healthy and toned up, and maybe let me get back into my old jeans!
Please give me your positive energy and prayers. Maybe throw in an extra push to give me the motivation to keep up with it. I don't care about dropping sizes or if I am 140 or anything. I just want to be healthy, toned up, and back with a flat tummy. :) Please wish me luck!
Sunday, January 22, 2012
If any one of you know me really well, my rescue puppy, Khaynin, is my baby. I'm not sure if it is because I found him in such a fragile state or because I nursed him back to health but if even the slightest thing goes wrong with him I'm all a-flutter with tears.
A couple weeks ago I began to noticed Khaynin was limping, not much or very often though. Right away I called up my Dad, he used to show dogs and have kennels. I explained it to him, looked over Khaynin's leg while trying to pinpoint a problem and checked his feet to make sure there was nothing hidden in them. I could find nothing wrong so my Dad told me to watch it but he may have just pulled a muscle.
I continued to watch him like a mother would, he wasn't whining, he never yelped when touched, he continued to run and constantly jump (trying to break him of that habit) like his leg didn't bother him at all. I considered that perhaps he was merely irritating his sore muscle with all his constant jumping but I wasn't too concerned yet.
Within this last week, within the last two days even, his leg took a drastic turn for the worse. He was running to go outside with me, on his way back up our three stairs into our home his leg collapsed on him. He didn't whine, he didn't even make a sound. He continued to try to pull himself up the stairs but couldn't. It moved me to tears. I picked him up and took him inside myself. He's quite the heavy dog too for his age. Since then, I've been watching him even more. I called my Dad instantly in worry and explained the problem. My Dad told me once of a dog he had that was showing similar behaviors to Khaynin, the dog was taken for an X-ray and it was discovered that there was a sowing needle imbedded in it's spine. While my Dad assured me that Khaynin would be quite alright for a few weeks, it was definitely something that needed to be checked out.
I love my puppy, he's a nuisance a times, intrusive, constantly loving attention and to be in my bubble when he doesn't need to be. He hovers around so close it's almost to the point of tripping over him. No matter what he's like, I'm worrying over him like a mother would do, because he is my baby. My mate and I will definitely be rushing him into a vet as soon as possible, for now I'm just consumed with worry and extremely frazzled and distracted. I could really use some positive energy, thanks, everyone. Wish Khaynin luck.
Friday, December 30, 2011
When I was a child, I wanted to be an archaeologist. There was nothing more appealing than the thought of hot sand, a warm sun, a tropical breeze, and uncovering vast hidden treasures. To imagine the feel as I knelt in the sand, my knees covered in the soft grains, the sound of bristles of the finest brushes scraping over the rock. Bit by bit, sand would give way to the most fascinating of wonders; fossils, pottery, skeletons, buildings, tombs, an entire frozen sitting at the tips of my fingers waiting to be unearthed. It was a discovery that called to me, the thrill of adventure, the knowledge of an ancient past riddle with secrets.
It sounds romantic, doesn't it? It's enticing, enthralling, and a siren call. If you close your eyes, perhaps you'll be able to feel the warmth of the sun, the hot wind brushing sand against your cheeks in a gentle caress. Your muscles are tired, fatigued is seeping into you, your tongue begs for even the smallest bit of water but it's rewarding. To discover something new to this world, something no one has laid eyes upon, you found.
If this calls to me so much, why am I not striving to be an archaeologist now? Why do I not have brushes in my hand, boots on my feet, a hat on my head, and why am I not trekking through ankle deep sand?
As most people grow older, they tend to lose their sense of wonder. Suddenly, a rainbow is no longer just colors in the sky, there is an actual reason for a rainbow. There is a scientific fact as to what exactly a rainbow is. Suddenly gravity exists and it is impossible to fly without a plane. Rain is no longer tears from the sky, it becomes hydrogen and oxygen. It's suddenly no longer logical to want to own your own tractor trailer because of how much fuel they take. Becoming a race car driver is no longer something attainable to most because of the break neck speeds, how hard it is to become sponsored, or how difficult it is to obtain a car. Becoming a famous sports player grows more difficult because of the sheer statistics of who succeeds at such and how rare it is to get scouted.
Now, becoming a race car driver, sports player, or owning your own tractor trailer isn't an impossible dream at all. There are people every day that accomplish those exact dreams. What makes those dreams so difficult is not the statistics, or that you need natural talent for them, or how much it costs to achieve those dreams. What makes dreams difficult is that people grow discouraged.
Let me tell you a reoccurring story:
I wanted to be an archaelogist with every fiber of my being. It was the biggest dream I had, it was the career choice I wanted, and to this day, I still feel the appeal for it. I had always loved knowledge, I love learning, I loved studying, just processing new information was something I loved and still to this day actively seek out. With my heart set, I proclaimed my career choice happy. I wanted to be in Egypt. I wanted to find tombs. I wanted to see their pottery. I wanted to press my hand against one of the pyramids. I wanted to travel through their small markets and look at herbs and trinkets. I wanted to study their Gods. I wanted to learn as much of their language as I could -both ancient and modern. I would spend hours as a young child watching documentaries on the tombs, mummification, I would pour over as many books about the wonderful place as I could get my hands on.
It was when I was about seven years old that dream was shattered. When I told my mother what I wanted to be when I grew up, the results were not pleasant. I was informed by her that it was a terrible career choice. It cost an extreme amount of money to secure dig sites, that I'd be out in the hot sun for hours on end. I'd catch diseases from opening tombs, that there would be nothing for me to discover because most of the artifacts in Egypt had already been discovered. That I would be stuck on the same dig site for 20 years at a time. That no one would take me seriously because I was a woman and in Egypt women were not respected and I would get no where in this field. That because I disliked bugs I would not be able to dig because I would be digging in the dirt and come in contact with them. To sum up the very long conversation, she told me I was not suited for this job and it was foolish to do.
Please note, all those views above are of my mother's, not my own. But at the age of seven, such a conversation can be heartbreaking. Children at that age still believe in Santa most often. It was a bit much to tell me my dream was pointless. I took my mother's words to heart and decided to settle on a new career.
My choice now was to become a veterinarian. I had always loved all manners of creatures. I was fascinated by exotic ones; snakes, frogs, lizards in all shapes and sizes. I had a love for bats, canines, felines, hamsters, ferrets, (I still have a massive dislike for all rabbits though), and so much more. I even loved horses, sheep, cows, all manner of farm animals. Since I enjoyed them so much, I thought that caring for them would be the best profession for me.
Once again, my mother discovered my new choice of career. She has an intense dislike for all animals, from cats, to dogs, to snakes, to even the smallest of creature. She always has hated animals and made it well known. When she discovered my new career choice once again I was hit with a great amount of disdain. Again I was told how this was a terrible career for me. That since I had a slightly squeamish stomach and my own blood bothered me that I would never be able to be a doctor. I would not be able to handle caring for the animals, giving them shots, or doing surgeries on them. To be a veterinarian it would require at least ten years of schooling. This career was also completely impractical for me.
I think the similar trend is starting to be noticed. For years, this was a continuing cycle, every career I would find, my mother would scorn and offer no encouragment at all. Exactly opposite, she would do all she could to discourage me from my path. The only career that suited her for me to be was a college professor of either Philosophy or English. Neither of those careers suited my interests. I wanted something fascinating, something that was similar in methods but the results were constantly changing. I didn't want to repeat the same thing day in and day out. I wanted new discovers, I wanted the change to continue learning as I worked.
To this day, yes, my current career choice is of no interest to my mother, but then her and I do not have much to say to each other. If you are curious, I am striving to become a botanist, a research whom's main focus is genetic engineering and plant breeding. But that is merely a stepping stone. My true desire is to someday own a natural medicine shop.
Looking back on those careers, are they truly so impossible to achieve? I don't think so. No doubt, every career has challenges that are needed to overcome but nothing is impossible. The true error is to give up before even starting. I was told once, "if you have the faith of a mustard seed, you can move a mountain."
I think yes, my mother probably wanted the best for me in her way. No parent likes to see their child struggle through difficulties, but without mistakes, we would not learn. There is only so much advice you can give before you have to step back and let someone make their own choices, for it is their life to live in the end.
Why is something considered a dream? Are dreams something unattainable? Are you also guilty of thinking, "this isn't rational to do. I can't achieve this. I am setting my goals too high. I need to find something more logical to attain. It's only a dream."
Are you settling? Are you assuming that with the best of your abilities you cannot achieve something? That your best is not good enough? That there is no point in truly striving to get what you wish of life?
There is no 'can't'. There is only the disbelief in yourself. The doubt that your all is not good enough. We are our own worse critics.
Pull that dream out of the closet, take a good hard look at it. Examine it from all angles. Perhaps take the time and read up upon that career or that dream you once had. Why was being race car driver impossible again? Read some stories of the people who have accomplished it and why they did so. Find out who truly encouraged them, not who discouraged them. Perhaps that dream is old and forgotten. Put it back in the closet again and let it rest.
Now take this time and make a new dream, and it doesn't matter how outrageous to you it seems. If you truly want it, dream of it. Set a goal, and make it happen. Take small steps if you need to, but each step is a moment closer to achieving your dream. Perhaps you always wanted to write a book, if you wrote a page a day? How many pages would you have done in a year? Maybe a paragraph a day even. You would still have your dream finished in only a few years.
Dreams seem impossible because they seem so large. They are meant to be. If something could be achieved in a day, would it really be a dream?
I hope you enjoyed reading, as always.
Thursday, December 29, 2011
"Don't take that tone with me!!" Admit it. How many of you are guilty of having a parent, guardian, mate, or friend accuse you of having a tone when speaking to them? And be honest, how many of you would reply, "I don't have a tone."
I hated that. I was guilty of it enough when I was growing up. It seemed like I could never have a civil discussion with my mother without her bringing up my tone when addressing her.
Now that I'm a little older, I've taken the time to pause and really consider just what is 'tone'?
Tone is a certain pitch which words are presented. A musician would tell you tone is a certain octave, or note, but I am not a musician. I'm not truly seeking out the scientific meaning of tone, I'm searching on a deeper level.
It finally struck me after some careful thinking, when someone accuses you of 'taking tone' with them, it is that they are hearing a certain volume, pitch, and way you are speaking which they perceive as offensive. Tone is all about perception. I was told once that the world is 10% fact and 90% our own personal perceptions of that fact.
So when you are in an argument with your mother, am I saying that you don't have a tone with her? That you aren't being disrespectful at all? Or that your mother is truly at fault because she is perceiving you in the way she is? Absolutely not.
I think of all the times that I would be so angry with my mother because I didn't hear my own tone at all. How could I have a tone with her if I didn't hear it? That is exactly it, she was hearing the tone through her own perception of the way I was speaking.
I suppose my true question for today is not 'what is tone?' But more specifically 'why is tone such a bad thing?'
Perhaps some of you are parents yourself and you are all too familiar with the rebellious child tone. It occurred to me that the reason that tone is so offensive is the fact that it's hurtful. If you are arguing with someone and you detect they have a tone, perhaps you perceive it as rude, ungrateful, angry, unfair, etc, it's hurtful. Tone is usually why arguments grow. If your mother is telling you to do the dishes and she detects a rude tone from you, wouldn't that hurt her feelings? She is perceiving that you cannot be bothered with what she asks you to do, she could also take it as that you truly don't respect her or you are ungrateful for all she has done for you.
The problem is, most people do not put themselves in someone else's shoes. Say you are asking your mother to do something for you, say make a doctor's appointment. In return, she also answers in a impatient tone, implying that she'll 'get to it when she has time.' How will you take her tone? Perhaps you'll believe that your problem is not important enough to her, that she is far to busy to care about your health, or that perhaps she cares nothing for you?
Ah, now are you seeing both sides of things? I am a very sensitive person as is the person I am mated to. It has become very apparent to me how by accident, we can hurt someone with nothing more than a tone. Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words can never hurt me? Sometimes a simple word delivered a sharp way can render someone silent. A slap may sting, but it is the words that follow the slap that continue to repeat after, for days, perhaps even years. I am quite sure that all of you can think of something that was said to you, harshly or angrily, that you have never forgotten.
By using a tone you are consciously, or perhaps unconsciously inflicting pain on someone else. One sentence said wrong can destroy dreams, crush hopes, and cause a hurt that may not be visible. It is said that anger is never a primary emotion, that it is secondary. Anger is a mask for many emotions: disappointment, hurt, sadness, pain, and so much more. The reason most arguments spiral out of control is because of tone. Which is what in truth? The act of consciously or unconsciously hurting someone through the way you dictate your words. If someone is hurt, who truly is at fault? Both sides. It takes two to make an argument. Two people, with two out of control tones, both unconsciously hurting each other.
So the next time someone accuses you of having 'tone' truly stop and consider what they have said to you. In some way, your pitch, the way you said the words you were speaking has hurt them, not for a fact that words you said did. And in such situations, I would apologize, and try to continue at a more reasonable tone to them, not a tone I find suitable. Control. I believe everyone can control their emotions, tones, and their ability to hurt someone. I believe you can.
I hope you take this to heart, perhaps this could help in your next disagreement.
I hope you enjoyed reading, as always.
Wednesday, December 28, 2011
My inspiration for this topic today would happen to be a loving nuisance in my life. That nuisance would be the dog I rescued as a puppy, Khaynin.
Khaynin was about four months old when I found him, he was in quite the sorry state too. This small almost completely black puppy was probably about seven lbs or so, he looked frail, his body was thin, his ribs were showing vividly through his fur, he was matted in dirt, and over his entire body he was covered in ticks and fleas. I remember rubbing my fingers over his ears, not a single centimeter of his skin was smooth.
The small pup was hiding under one of my sisters' van. It took over an hour to coax him out, but once he was out, we took him inside, laid him down on a pillow. I laid next to him, he was trembling, and I rubbed his head. I cooed softly to him until he finally calmed down enough to sleep.
My life was devoted to him, every two hours exactly I would take him outside to use the bathroom. The first two nights, I did not leave him. I didn't want him to sleep in the kitchen alone (it was the only place without carpeting), so I stayed awake the entire night, watching him to make sure he didn't have an accident on the carpet. He slept soundly through the night. I repeated that until finally I needed sleep, I had my father watch him during the day for a few hours and I crashed. After about a week of this, I knew I couldn't keep it up. I was reluctant, but I finally tied him up in the kitchen for the night and went to bed, sure to take him out before I slept. His wails for me tore my heart, but I ignored them while my dad hushed him, and I slept.
Khaynin was house broken very easily, which surprised me a great deal. When I was a child my birth mother always complained that we could never have a dog because they were impossible to house break. This little puppy only had two accidents in my father's house, and it was only pee. After several months, we had a routine of times, he steadily grew to hold it longer, and he knew to go outside. He would only whine when he needed to go out. Other than that, he was clearly attached to me. It took awhile for him to play with my siblings or father. I remember that my one sister got disgruntled at the fact that if I even walked into the room or in the sight of Khaynin that he would ignore everyone else and whine for me.
The bond he and I had grew extremely, it was summer time, he had a large yard in Mississippi to roam, almost no neighbors, and I was not working or in school. Almost every moment of my time was devoted to him. Perhaps I spoiled him too much, but I just felt that he had been through so much that I didn't want things to be hard for him.
I was the one who fed him every day, only I took him outside, only I gave him treats, only I bathed him, and only I disciplined him.
Some dogs love water, others hate it and fight terribly during baths. Within the first week I found him, I bathed him twice. He was covered in so many fleas and ticks that he must have been in agony, itching terribly. I did not have gloves, so I did so bare handed. I have quite the squeamishness with bugs, so it was difficult for both he and I. But I knew in my heart that his welfare was more important than my fears of the little critters. I was also the one who rubbed in the flea and tick medicine through every inch of his fur. That was done several times because his need was so severely. He honestly hated that more than the bath, the smell was extremely strong, it must have been near unbearable for him. But he learnt something valuable from those experiences. Even though he detested them, he found that no matter how unpleasant the task he would have to go through, I would never harm him. This shows in our present encounters, such as trimming his nails or filing them down. He hates the noise, but he never bites, he never growls, he may squirm a little and whine, but he always is well behaved. After any baths, he is sure to run to me and lick my hand in gratitude.
This little puppy has a great deal of personality, from his features, he appears to be half whippet and half pit bull. His intelligence is very high, a trait of pit bulls, along with his eyes. Since he is intelligent though, he tends to push his limits. Instead of just accepting 'No!' he decides to wait until he thinks we don't notice him, and then he pushes his luck.
Khaynin is now about 7 months old and doing fine. But he is the spark of my topic for today, pet peeves.
Everyone has them, whether it's that person sitting next to you jiggling their leg next to you, someone biting their nails, people who slur their speech, talk too loud, someone scrapes their nails down a chalk board, it's just something that gets under your skin.
Some of them aren't able to be explained, most people when questioned about why it annoys them in return reply, "it just does!" Most of these irritations are acceptable by others, it is just one act of behavior usually of another that seems to spark a trickle of annoyance.
How do you solve a pet peeve?
That is the tricky part, you can't. Now you can take the incentive to speak to the person who is causing the irritation. Say a friend or mate has cold hands, to be touched with them borderlines pain almost to you. The friend or mate can't really help if they have cold hands, but you could speak to them to see if they will try to remember to warm their hands up before touching you. Problem solved right?
To most people, these little quirks are just embedded so deeply in them it takes a conscious effort to change the behavior and truly, some aren't willing to bother with it.
As humorous as it is, my pet peeve is being caused by my adorable little rescue puppy.
I noticed about a week or two ago he seemed to be constantly itching. He's already been treated with his monthly flea and tick medicine for this month, treated for worms, and since his itching could not be caused by that, I figured it was just dandruff. As a puppy, he has a horrible case of it, but it's manageable. So my mate and I went through the difficult adventure of bathing our now 25-30 lbs puppy. After his bath, he was brushed and sent on his way.
It seemed that for a week or so, that cured his itching, his dandruff was no longer visible, I figured the problem was solved.
He has started itching again. Now most people would say, 'well, everyone itches, dogs too. It can't be that bothersome.' It actually is. I've started following him around with his brush. Every time he itches, I make sure to brush very thoroughly the spots that he has been so focused on itching. His itching has gotten so bad, that we have taken to leaving his collar off when he is in the house.
Now I am sure some of you think I may be over reacting, but my father used to show dogs in competitions and cure 'troubled dogs' he said he actually had a dog that had a genetic disease that was chronic itching. Now that itching got so bad, that the dog would actually itch to the point that he would rip out fur and bleed. Eventually the dog had to be put down or else he would die from infection from the cuts he had inflicted from itching.
That puts a slightly more serious spin on things. Not only does the fact that he literally is itching about every two minutes or so, or that he itches so loud and hits the side of the bed at night and wakes us, it is also out of concern. I am worried this may develop into something worse if not carefully watched.
It is not as if I can take the civil route and ask him to stop itching to relieve my irritation, but I'll have to discover for myself how to cure his itching and relieve his own troubles. I imagine itching like that would drive me insane if I was on the receiving end.
An interesting spin on pet peeves, so perhaps before you allow one little thing to make you angry, why not put yourself in the other person's shoes? Perhaps they are unaware they are doing something that drives you up the wall. Take the time and try to communicate. Because in some cases...you really can't.
To the left is a picture of Khaynin now.
I hope you enjoy reading as always.
(For humors sake, here is a list of Pet Peeves)
Tuesday, December 27, 2011
Update: I noticed a lot of Yule posts about how hard several people had Yule and Christmas. It's a bit disappointing to see such a familiar trend. My Yule was quite well, a little teary because I miss my family, but my mate truly made it the best for me. Christmas was also quite weepy for me. Since the holidays began, my harmony I have been so kindly seeking seemed to desert me completely. The last few days have been very trying, but I am attempting to regain control.
Since I am lacking inspiration today, I want to share a story with you all. This is a story of my inspiration, a story of a girl I know and love.
Have you ever met that one person who has an extremely difficult life but they are so cheerful? That you seem to step back, put yourself in their shoes and wonder how this can be? How do they hold such strength? How can they be so giving, so loving, so filled with the desire to change the world? How is it...that they continue to go on?
I'll admit, I keep a lot of myself private, but I had a bit of a troubled youth. I wasn't the type to do drugs, or steal, or have sex, or party, or do vandalism, etc. But the life at my home was another story. Perhaps someday I will say more, but for now I will merely say, I was trying to escape from my home, and as much as possible. I wound up going to a college group about an hour away from my home. I was only a high school student, but there were no youth groups available in my town and I was more than welcomed there. It got to the point that I would leave my home for more than half the week, staying with some college friends who ran the group. It was almost like I was a college student, I used their library, lacked the classes, and went to their group events.
It was there I met someone who changed my life. When I first met her, she scared me. She had a disease I wasn't quite sure what it was, later I discovered it to be Cerebral Palsy. I saw that she was in a powered wheel chair, her arms spasmed at times, and she was tiny in size.
I'm naturally quite terrified of new people as it is, but what intrigued me most about her was the big smile on her face, you couldn't miss it. It was warm, she laughed a lot during the meetings. She was quiet, but she shared when something really spoke to her.
I was very shy, so was she. I can't remember exactly how we started getting close, but I learnt several things from her. I found out that she wasn't breakable. When I first met her, I remember worrying a great deal that I may hurt her if I was too rough with her or touched her. Once I discovered it didn't hurt, I took that fact to heart. I would plop right down on her in her chair. She loved it. I remember the times when we would race through the snow to get ice cream. I never cut her any slack, I knew that she was faster than me. I had to jog to keep up with her chair, those things have some serious power!
My favorite memory was when we were in her dorm room, she would always encourage me to get in her chair, I loved that thing too. I remember that her chair was getting repairs so she was borrowing one that could tilt upwards. She told me to tilt the chair backwards then spin in circles. She did it herself then encouraged me to try it. I swear to goddess, I almost died. She controlled it with such ease. I was so sure that I was going to fly out of the chair, those things don't come with seatbelts!
I learnt so much from her, I realized during our friendship that she was no different than I. She taught me so much to look beyond the appearance and see that she truly had no limitations at all. I would often as her questions about her life, about how she had to have assistance with dressing or showers, and how it made her feel. To her, she was used to it. It was just something she had to do, it was normal. Now, she was not without her depression, anyone would be, but more often than not, she possessed a spark that I never had. She had such love, such drive, such ambition. She was beautiful.
As scared as I am of people, she was not. When others would look at her and judge, she was a shining beacon. They too would have fear and not know how to react, how to treat her to not offend her, etc. I realized that she is not like everyone else, but she is better. She is unique. She possessed an inner strength that I could never imagine.
To this day, she is my inspiration and one of my dearest best friends.
Her story is not mine to write, the tales of how hard her life has actually been and how she has grown and dealt with it is not mine to share. It is up to her to reach the world with her life and she is. Through poems, writing, short stories, videos, and more. She is an artist.
I tell you of her only to reassure to myself...of how much I value what she has taught me. She is the minority. She battles hardship every day and wins. To her, every problem holds as just as much importance as her own struggles. She is never spiteful, she values what she has been blessed with. To this day, I stand back and wonder...
As I continue to learn, love, and grow, she will always be an inspiration to me. I value her and all she has taught me. I strive for her spark, I strive to be like her, to possess that motivation, kindness, and love. She is a beautiful gem in a sea of sand.
There is so much I could say about her, to her. But all I can think to say is,
'I love you. You know who you are, I value you, and you always have a place in my heart. I know you'll achieve your dreams.'
And to everyone, I hope you all can take perhaps a little inspiration from this story, learn to see beyond limitations, race, gender, and age. Look beyond the outside and see the soul, the spirit. See what beautiful people are truly out there. Be blessed, and learn to love.
Thank you for reading, as always.