Journal #1

I think back to the day I began packing to head off to college. As my uncle walked into the house, I couldn't help but think of his past- prison. I thought of his son and his past- first to graduate high school but still no job, no college. As my cousin followed my uncle into my house, I thought of his past- gangs. I then thought of his mom and her past- pregnant at 15. Her earlier words then came flooding back into my head, "You are going to end up just like me." The way the words came out of her mouth when I was just 14 years old did't seem like a compassionate warning- they seemed like a verdict that she has just ruled. Her words resonated with me but instead of letting them define me, I fought to prove those words wrong. My identity as not only a student, but an individual were rocked that day.
All the way up until I walked across the stage to accept my high school diploma in the top 6% of my class and even-still today as I ride my bike to my English lecture, the scornful and jealous stares I feel from my family- who thought I could never break the chain we were linked to- only fuel my fire.

“In reality I’m gon’ be who I be and I don’t feel no faults
For all the lies that you bought
You can try as you may, break me down when I say
That it ain’t up to you, gonna do what you do

Hate on me, hater, now or later
‘Cause I’m gonna do me, you’ll be made, baby
Go ‘head and hate on me, hater, I’m not afraid of
What I got I paid for, you can hate on me”

                            -Jill Scott (but I heard it on Glee:])

This song was in my head as I wrote out this entry. It seems to embody the theme of my journey from the day I had that conversation with my aunt, on.




This journal was so simple to come up with. It is something so prevalent in my mind especially now, being the first in my family to simply complete this- a college assignment. I did not feel the need to add in any frillies to my entry because the truth was so vivid and harsh in my mind. I simply let the picture in my head flow onto the keyboard. 
The language I used was the language I normally write in. I have a personal blog and for some reason, even my most unimportant posts come out in this same semi-formal language. I don't think in this language (unless I am writing what I am thinking- if that makes any sense) and I definitely don't talk in this language. Yet, most of my writings turn out this way.