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333 Final Reflection

Here we are, our last blog post. It all comes to an end. Instead of dwelling on the end of our journey, let’s reflect back on what this journey has done to us. 

I wasn’t exactly sure what this class was going to be like, but I’m glad I took it, and I’m especially glad I got you as a professor, Professor McShane. I really wasn’t looking forward for taking another english class, but because it was with you, it made everything better. 

We first started with Officer Clemmons, and it was exactly what I was looking for: getting back into reading. I picked up reading again and it was one of the best decisions I could get back into. Without taking this class, I don’t think I would have ever read Officer Clemmons, but I sure am that I have. It felt like such an honor reading his memoir; this is a book that I will keep treasured in my heart. 

I’m hoping as a writer, that I’ve gotten better, haha. I enjoy writing, but when I write, I know it doesn’t sound as the most “high IQ,” but that’s just my form of writing. I like to write to express my feelings. I know writing can get metaphorical, but I don’t roll like that- metaphors be wack, bro. But, keeping up with a blog post and the free writes in class did make me appreciate it more- even if the topics were about something I had to quickly think about, which can be a weakness for me (still super fun though). I’m glad I was able to write, God knows this was needed practice. 

This class was really honest and straightforward, along with understanding. I’m not really sure what I would change. I do think, although, the class was just a bit intimidating. Most times, I did find myself just shy away. I do wish I had participated a bit more, but just in another way from just raising my hand and talking. 

I am super glad that I was able to read the books that were selected. If I was choosing a book on my own, I would have never select the ones that were required for this class. When reading, I don’t think about choosing memoirs, so this really opened up my mind about the many types of books to read.

Overall, what a wonderful class! I genuinely enjoyed it, a lot more than what I was expecting, and would recommend this class to anyone, specifically for the professor :). I rate this: full credit. 

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Memory Storage

Back in 6th grade, I received one of those boards you hang on your wall and just put whatever you want on there. After seeing my older cousin put a bunch of things on her corkboard, I knew I wanted one. The one I got was this salmon-pink color in the shape of a square with white straps so you can hang your shenanigans on there. I thought it was ugly, but it would suffice. I remember the first thing I put on there: it was this plastic card that had read “this is left intentionally blank.” I thought it was hilarious, so I placed it on there- and it still hangs on there, it’s just so stupidly funny. Since 6th grade, I’ve hung up all sorts of memories that I’ve decided to keep. My childhood best friend's “happy birthday” letters to me, this clarinet reed that was never used because as soon as I opened the packaging, it turned out to be broken already, a taco bell hot sauce packet from my current best friend they gave me for valentine’s day- just all sorts of memories. Just like I stored stuff there, I also threw some away. I had to keep it fresh and clean, what can I say? I purposely left my board at home and didn’t take it with me because I feel like it’s a piece of me that I want it to stay at home. Home is where all the memories are, and I want to walk into my room anytime I visit and reflect what I have stored before going off to college. Collecting memories is my favorite thing to do- whether it’s nostalgic and fulfilling to painful and neglectful, it’s nice to reflect. 

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Societal Pressure

I wouldn’t necessarily say I’ve gone through a societal pressure, though in the eyes of my mom, then yeah. Because I am a girl, my mom wanted me to be a girl. Which don’t get me wrong, I am, but I wasn’t always comfortable with being a girl. It wasn’t up to me though, I had to live up to my mom’s expectations on what she wants me to be, breaking me. 

As a kid, I was weird. I hated dresses, but I loved princesses. I hated having to get ready and look all pretty by doing my hair and all, yet Princess Peach is who I wanted to be. And although I hated all this stuff, sometimes, I did just want to dress up and get ready and take pictures because I did feel pretty like a girl should. So, already, I was confused about what I liked and wanted. It’s like I wanted to be both a not girl but also a girl. This probably all stems because of my older brother, whom him and I are only 18 months apart. I grew up with him- him and I were bestfriends. So anything he did, I wanted to do, anything he was interested in, I was interested in, anywhere he went, I wanted to be. I always looked up to him. Thus, I was an obsessive kid watching my brother spend endless of hours trying to get all 120 stars in Mario 64- and also failing to skateboard. Because he did it, I thought I could, which all I ended up with was a scrapped knee. But because I was so attached to him, I just wanted to be a boy- sometimes. 

As I grew up, though, my mom -as the hard-headed, strict Christian mom she was- was not going to let this happen. She would force me to wear dresses and forced me to do my hair. In retrospect, this probably doesn’t sound that bad, I mean you’re just dressing up there’s no actual harm, so what’s the problem. The problem: I hated it. You don’t know how much this stupid thing just made me hate everything. I hated it I hated it, I couldn’t stand it, I hated it. I’d cry every time my mom would force it on me, and she’d ridicule me and to others because of this. She made me feel like I was stupid for getting upset over this, like I was a terrible daughter because this is what all the girls were doing so I had to live up to that norm. I did not want to. She never understood me. I felt like something was wrong with me because of this. I thought I was the problem because I didn’t want to be a girl or act like one, I just wanted to be like my brother. 

I was really confused about my identity as a kid. Was I meant to be a boy? Was being a girl an error? I hated being a girl, so maybe I wasn’t normal. I had felt destined to be a guy, but I just got unlucky and came out a girl. All of these feelings troubled me for a bit, but I was a kid man. As a kid I thought I was kidnapped cause my parents were mad at me, so none of this really mattered to me- I saw it more as “oh I’m upset.” and what not. With this constant forcing me to act and behave as a girl, I finally came to terms that okay, I guess I am a girl, but it still sucks and I hate it! More overtime, I just came to accept it. 

Once I was much older, I just started doing the stuff I actually wanted to do because I liked it, only because I was older and my mom can’t control me nearly as much anymore. Though my mom still tells me that I should dress up all cute and pretty by wearing a nice little dress and doing my hair and makeup, even though I’ve expressed to her multiple times that that stuff doesn’t suit me (sometimes haha) because I just don’t care but she’s always like, “oh but don’t you want to be all pretty.” Like thanks mom, you’re just telling me I’m not pretty because I don’t do these girly things, yeah. And I say “sometimes” because sometimes I do just want to do that, because though I hate to admit it, it does make me feel pretty and sometimes I just want to feel pretty. But sometimes I do just want to dress up like a guy because it makes me feel cool, so. 

This blog is stupid long and messy, I am sorry. 

Writing all this and I have mix feelings about myself once more, but it’s okay. I’m living it one moment at a time, trying to get it through. Yay. 

me rn

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Coded Language

To start this off, I hate discrimination! Personally, I am an anti-racist. Boo racism, boo sexism, boo everything! I hate this world! Woah, sorry. I just wasn’t sure how to start this blog post. 

I can’t remember a time where I’ve received coded language and that could be because of one of two things. 1: I don’t have the best memory, especially when someone’s asking me a time to remember a specific event, suddenly, I have gone blank. And 2: I’ve probably never received coded language because I can’t recognize it as coded language- you see the problem? I can recognize some, but me, being that person, I’d like to believe everyone means whatever they mean in a positive person. Well, I’d like to hope so at least. 

Though I did just say I don’t ever remember receiving coded language, PLEASE, let me tell you about this backhanded compliment I did get. It’s so hilarious, I laugh at it every time lmao. 

As I person: I don’t know care showing up to class in whatever, as long as it’s comfortable then I’m all set. So one day to class, I went in pjs. Straight up. I took a shower that night and slept in pjs and just woke up and went to my class like that. I was at PEAK comfort man, I’m in love with those pants. I get to class and sit down and this person out of no where just tells me, “Hey I like how you came in pajamas.” Something like that, whatever. And at first I’m like, oh haha thanks yeah. But then I start thinking and I’m like, wait a minute? Like maybe their intentions weren’t to mock me with the fact that I showed up in pjs. Imagine if it was though? They just wanted to ridicule me because of the fact that I wanted to go to class comfortably. Man, that is just so hilarious. That’s some mean girl shit if they were forreal about for it too, crazy. 

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Happy Memories

It was you, all along; my moments with you were the best times of my life. Even if what happened between us ending sour, I hug tightly to our memories. You are unforgettable. 

Whilst in the middle of my darkness, you approached me, brightening me in every way you could. And although while we were together I was still in a cloudy place, you made it reassuring that everything was okay. 

Our first time together? It was nice, yet ended immaturely, so you entering again was redemption- in a way. I promise you, I was trying hard to keep you just like you were. I’m sorry I didn’t promise hard enough. I think about it frequently, and it kills me. 

This isn’t about our failure of being able to stay together, no. Let’s not dwell on the pessimism of our time. Instead of staying on the topic of our end, let’s talk about the memories we shared. Our memories. 

You were with me 24/7. We were attached to one another as if we were magnets- opposites attracting each other. Constantly talking to me, you always had something to say, whether it continued our conversation or started a completely new one. Debatable, maybe, but that was one of my favorite part about you. You never bored me, you always had something to say. You took my loneliness away and you were all I ever knew; you were all I ever wanted- all I ever desired 

You sought out your ways to always keep me satisfied. You had made me this stupid edit, but it was for me, and that’s all that mattered. You thought about me. You always did and I fell in love. 

You had me dazed, crazy for you. More and more, I wanted, but you were more than enough. Our relationship together was summarized as if we were dancing together. Delicate, yet meaningful, filled with fiery passion. 

It sounds weird, I’m sorry. I know I was just as crucial to you as you were to mean, but has that changed? Let’s not think about that. Recalling our memories is hard enough because I miss it, but it’s okay. 

Forever and always, I hope you’re doing well. Though I’m doing okay where I’m at, you’re always wandering around my mind.

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Expected Middle School Date

Thinking about middle school makes me cringe. It’s just so horrible, like nothing bad happened or anything, it’s just super embarrassing- though at least I’m not the only one. 

It was my 8th grade year, and I had this crush on this kid. He was pretty cute, we had this lil playful/banter friendship going around. Things escalated, and what I mean by that is that word broke out that we liked each other so there was tension between him and I, and while walking home together, he asked me out on a date. And you know what, him and I had had this stupid thing going on for like 5 months or whatever and I never hot his number or any type of social media to text him on. So it was super awkward, I had to ask him for his number cause like how were we gonna plan it, right? Anyways I get his number and don’t here back from him until like 3 days (he must’ve watched How I Met Your Mother or something). Finally, we’re like, “yeah let’s hang out.” 

What we came up with -me, it was me that came up with, he did not contribute to it whatsoever- was to walk to the Family Dollar near the store. That was the date. Sooo cringe, I am grinding my teeth rn. So after school, we meet and just start heading over there. The awkward tension? Out of the sky, bro. I think what him and I had concluded was that we can work well while in class, but outside of school? That’s the death of us. We get to Family Dollar and this kid starts acting weird. Like I’m just trying to enjoy my time with this guy that I thought I liked and this man is like freaking out, in his coat in the 90 degree whether- mmm 8th grade me was a slut for that, apparently. To conclude this date: he left me at the Family Dollar alone lmao. He said he was gonna leave but I didn’t believe him, and then he left while I was just trying to buy a gatorade. I would’ve been mad, but I was at a family dollar, I just wanted a drink and like candy man. I had to call my sister to pick me up, saying that my after school club event was cut short, ha! 

I think that should’ve stuck in my mind that dating was really just stupid, especially when you’re young. I did not understand and decided to continue to date this man up until our break up- my shortest: 1 month, I think? It’s so embarrassing, it’s hilarious. It was my first break-up ever, what was I supposed to do, cry? I tried crying for 30 minutes and then realized this was so stupid and was like, “ew, why did I think this would be a good idea.” Actually crazy, and insane, and hysterical. 

Time flies, man. That is probably the worst date I can recall, and of course it has to be the middle school one. Though I think dating is kinda just weird, ironically I am dating my current boyfriend (who funnily enough, I met in middle school). The difference between this relationship and my 1st one? Man, it’s a lot less cringe, I can tell you that, but I am happily with him :>

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He is my sunshine, my protector and comforter, I love Joel. Joel and I bond as siblings should, but I keep him close to my heart- forever and always. In my room, I dedicated a spot for him. I have a couple of photos of Joel and I (one w my dog, I love my dog!) and these drawings he made for me. To note: HE’S the one obsessed with among us, not me. I really just wanted to clarify that. Joel loves to be artistic time to time and likes giving them to me. I have a ton more hung up back at home in my room, but these two were my favorites so I took them with me. I think the drawing on the left is so funny, he drew it for me after I broke down for a week straight- he has a since of humor. I decided to put these memories of him above my desk. While I’m stressing out about school and questioning my existence, I know I can always look up and remember why I’m still kickin’ it. Love you Joel. 

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Locked Out

Though this isn’t my car -cause sadly (or luckily enough), I haven’t had any horrible experiences with my car- it was around my boyfriend’s car, so it counts.

My boyfriend and I had gone out one night to go eat ice cream together at Braum’s, because you can never go wrong with a double dip ice cream cone of chocolate and vanilla- basic, I know. My boyfriend parked, put his keys in his pocket, and took my hand, as we walked inside the building to order. We sat down and there was a bit of awkwardness just because of how quiet we got, but you couldn’t blame us, Braum’s ice cream goes hard. Going out with him always feels so genuine: we have our small talks that always open up to jokes and laughter. I get lost in his eyes and fall for all his jokes, it’s what makes him, him. But what also makes him, him is how clumsy dumb he is. 

Once we decide that we’re ready to go, we get up from the booth, but fear strikes him: he can’t find his keys. We look all over the store and ask for the employees’ help but to our avail- no luck. Him and I decide to check outside near his car and the first time we did, there was no luck, The second time we went back to check, we were desperate and my boyfriend just tried to open the door himself- like that would help. Instead it made things worse because the car alarm went off that was just super embarrassing for us. The people outside going back to their cars felt so bad for us, they decided to help us too. Thankfully, my boyfriend managed to find his keys under the car (how he didn’t see them soon, I have no idea). But the thing about his keys is that: they are stupid. The buttons on his keys don’t work and I always suggest him to get them fixed but his thing is “nah, I don’t need to.” And even after this incident, he is still stubborn to not get them fixed, like this moment wasn’t embarrassing for the both of us. So with his car alarm going off and him and I trying to get them to stop with his broken key buttons, let’s just say, it was a hectic night. Dont worry, to end this story on a not-so-humiliating-note, we stopped the alarms, drove off swiftly due to embarrassment and went back home safely. 

That night is unforgettable, him and I went through the 5 stages of grief somehow, I swear. Bottom line: don’t trust 2014 Nissan Sentras- they’ll be the death of you.

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aching memories

I never got to hang out with my aunts or grandmother since they all lived in Mexico, making it approximately 881 miles away from my home town. How many miles is my own mother away from me (before leaving to college, of course)? 0 miles. I see the joy of kids and their mothers; they’re mothers are their role models, their heroes, their life. My mother was the bane of my existence- but at least she’s not so much anymore, haha right?

For many people, it’s difficult to paint their mothers as someone who has caused them years of misery and pain. For many people, they would not wish their mothers any sort of pain. For many people, their mothers are someone they can confide in, someone to go to, someone to love. I was not the same. My mom and I have had an excruciating and painful relationship together. Though, I would like to clarify, after some events and leaving for college, the tension has definitely eased, so I’m at least content about that. 

I don’t know what exactly happened. Where did I go wrong? What was it that I did? How did I change? Why did she change? These constant questions would wrap and constrict my mind, as the warm, distraught tears slowly fell down my cheeks, onto my lips, onto my neck. My mother was my best friend. The endless memories her and I had as a kid. She was the loving mother I adored, because something about her, she just had such a sweet charisma and of course, little six year old me was going to enjoy that. So why don’t I talk about those memories? The memories of my mom and I when I was a kid. My childhood memories that I will never forget, my childhood memories that I keep treasured in my heart, because deep down I miss them and I know I will never get anything like that. I choose not to because the darker memories outshine the childhood, friendly ones. I’m sorry mom, it just had to be this way.

Sounds dark and personal, haha whoops. Sometimes, oneself cannot just control themselves when writing about themselves (does that make sense?) Am I even following the prompt? Instead of focusing on one memory of my mom, I can only think of the sorrowful ones. Though, to end it on a “happy note”, yes, my mom and I are o-kay now. Her and I may not be on the same page we once were when I was a toddler, but it’s definitely better than what it was a couple years ago. So that’s all I have to focus on, because although forgetting the past is painful because you relive those old memories, all what matters is what is present: and I have to remember that, forever. 

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