a family of storytellers

Writing has been a lifelong friend and coping mechanism. I honestly don't know what I'd do if I didn't write. 

I remember so vividly sitting in front of our family computer and typing away. I once wrote a story for my mom and claimed it was her birthday present — which sounds like I was just being cheap, but I swear I wasn't (okay maybe a little, but I was like 10). 

When it wasn't my turn to use the computer, or more realistically, when my sister kicked me off, I had my notebooks. To this day, I still find story ideas and plot lines scattered among the many, many notebooks I have acquired over the years. And some of those stories? Oof. When I look back at some of the stories I wrote there is definitely a lot of cringing involved — I'll probably look back on this very piece of writing right here in a couple of months and hate every word I chose to type. 

What's interesting to me is that 23-year-old me is still writing about the same things seven-year-old me was. I'd like to think my writing style has improved a bit since then, but at the core of all those writings is a girl who doesn't know where she fits in. A girl who grew up feeling like an outsider or a black sheep. A girl who struggles with her identity in ways that can be attributed to race, culture, and the whole wide world. I have found my place in some aspects of life. I have a core group of friends who I know will be in my life forever, my siblings and I are closer than I ever dreamed we would be, and I have some things I can point at and say, "This is who I am." But the work isn't over. There are still lots of things I need to process and work through and discover about myself. If I had to title this chapter of my life, it would be, "The Little Pebble that I Am ft. My Therapist." I feel like I should explain the little pebble part, but nah, I am going to leave that up for interpretation. 

Sometimes I wonder where I got my love of writing from. Did it come from having to keep myself entertained, with only my imagination keeping me company? Did it come from my parents taking us to the library so we could all escape reality for a little bit? Did it come from pain? From love? Did it come from my family?

Well, we aren't necessarily a family of writers, but we are a family of storytellers. We all communicate and express in our own ways. Our family parties are loud and rambunctious, partially because our gatherings are often just once a year, but also because we all have words we want to get out. There's laughter and yelling, there are the solemn nods of heads and the claps and finger points when we're overjoyed, and while often we are sharing old stories, so many new stories come out of that one night we are together.

Writing is the best thing that's ever happened to me. So I'm going to start doing more of it. I am going to try and write something every day and post it here. Why not, right?

enjoy a photo of me and my family