“I Luv Food.” That’s the name of my phone since I first got it in 3rd grade. I got to decide what to name it on iCloud, and my pops said to choose something I loved, so I decided FOOD! The smell of foods, the taste, the different texture, everything about it makes me so happy. I sometimes go to bed thinking about how excited I am to eat breakfast in the morning. Some would say I have an unhealthy obsession with it, while others would call me a food connoisseur. I want to thank whoever decided to make such delicacies as French fries, and don’t even get me started on sushi! I am so grateful to be able to experience the beauty of eating, smelling, and tasting. Just the thought of this makes me so excited to eat breakfast tomorrow. I might be obsessed, but I mean, come on, who doesn’t love food?
Author: lalapaloozaur
Heaven
The idea of heaven always used to scare me. What do you mean we live sometimes a short life, sometimes a long life, and if we’re good enough, we get to go to a place that’s supposed to be an eternal happiness. What would eternal happiness be to someone? Would it be seeing their dog that passed away or seeing their parents who loved them, but never got to say goodbye when they wanted to? Or would it be for someone the idea of having food each day, or for others, driving a luxury car? When I think of heaven, I don’t know what to think my eternal happiness would be for me. Would it be my parents loving me the way I always wanted them to? Or getting a second chance at life where I don’t stress about such minute things. I have always wanted to meet God ask him what heaven would be like for me but to this day, I’m still unsure and hopefully one day I’ll figure out what heaven means to me.
PC- Google
Skin
It never felt hard to fake a smile, it came almost automatically to me. I never noticed when I would fake it just like how I never noticed the color of my skin. It was a color my mom would idealize as in Africa the lighter the skin the prettier you were. So with her panther-like complexion she admired me which left me happy with my identity. As for my father he loved my mothers skin and loved me for being a combination of him and her. I never noticed my skin until I began to be treated differently for it, I would try to pinpoint what it was. I’d say things like, “maybe it was my non-European features.” Or maybe it was my curly hair. During middle school I was severely bullied, where my identity felt as if it was just my skin. When I moved away from that environment I began slowly forget the harsh comments that were made. Although the micro aggression would sometimes appear it wouldn’t affect me. Up until my trip to Switzerland where I was called the n word multiple times by multiple people, but this time it was with my friends the people I trusted the world with but yet not a single one stood up for me and so as that word was being said towards me it felt as if my entire world was crumbling. Though I forgot because we are taught to forget to move on. So a year went by I let go of one of those friendships and I moved on. Up until it was brought up again this year, I don’t know if it was something in the air or it was my body reprocessing it but it broke me. I cried, I cried and cried. And I began to feel as if I was 12 years old again, on my knees begging and praying to god asking him why he would create me like this with tears that could fill the atlantic ocean. As I woke up the first thing I noticed was not the acne on my face or the puffiness of my eyelids, it was my skin color. I felt as if it was truly the only thing people saw me for. Up until now I cannot say I have moved on. I still cry from time to time wondering why I was born this way. But I am slowly trying to forget and move on as what else am I supposed to do?
PC: Google
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