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My Diary From Age 7
Oh sweet nostalgia, how you catch me in your sugary snare! Gather ‘round, lovely people, for today I share the most illustrious words of a budding young authoress—7-year-old me! Lovingly preserved by my mom, the diary documents the grand odyssey to my grandparents’ farm in Upstate New York. Prepare for a rollercoaster ride through the wacky, whimsical wonderings of my juvenile mind. Ah, the undeniable zenith of my childhood obsessions—Ghostbusters! The adventures of Spengler, Stantz, Venkman, and Zeddemore were my daily bread, their fearless ghost-busting my divine inspiration. My diary teems with the tales of my own spectral pursuits amid the charming disarray of my grandparents’ farm. Ah, one can’t…
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Whispers From The Campfire: My Journey To Self-Discovery
In life, there are those fleeting moments, those keyframes, where everything seems to hang in a gentle pause, allowing us to glimpse the deeper truths hidden beneath the surface of our daily lives. As I reminisce about those pivotal moments in my journey, I realize how they sculpted the resilient, independent, and adventurous woman I am today. I remember when I was 14, a tender age where the world seemed a lot simpler, yet immensely complicated. I sat amongst friends, surrounded by the gentle flicker of the campfire that cast elongated shadows on everyone’s faces. The air was thick with promises of everlasting friendship, binding pacts sealed with the innocence…
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Those Three Words… How I Feel
The worst feelings are the times when I can’t find the words to describe how I feel. There’s a certain vulnerability that comes with it, a desolation that washes over me in sweeping waves, leaving me gasping for air and grappling for words in a world that seems suddenly devoid of the very language I’ve come to depend on. I’m a writer, a lover of words. Words are my tools, my companions, and my solace. But there are times when they abandon me, just when I need them the most. I remember one such instance vividly. I was 14 years old, sitting on a rock where the water meets the…
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Frog’s Photo Shoot
The story of frog can be found here. December 2022
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The World I Came Into Has Gotten Too Scary
My earliest memories are of being a small child sitting on the marble floor of our Greenwich Village apartment. There was something comforting in the coolness of that floor, in its immovability, in its seeming lack of opinion or judgment. It was a respite from the complexities of life in a large city with multiple families living in upstairs apartments under one roof. All my difficulties felt as if they could be put aside for a few moments in that little corner, next to the refrigerator. I could take comfort in the simple, repetitive task of sorting and stacking colorful blocks, ignoring the struggles in the wider world around me.…
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Dark Horse: How I Learned To Embrace My Unconventional Nickname
When I was younger, my nickname was Dark Horse. For most of my life, I hated it. It didn’t reflect the person I wanted to be seen as, and it wasn’t even accurate—while we were growing up, I was anything but the dark horse. I recently had an epiphany about why my friends gave me that nickname in the first place: they saw things in me that others refused to acknowledge—my will, my inner strength, and my potential. A dark horse is someone who excels in an unexpected field. In the world of horse racing, a dark horse is any horse that’s not being considered a favorite to win the…
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These Dreams
We all have dreams and aspirations that we keep close to our hearts, but most of us change those dreams as we age and enter new phases in life. However, many people remain relatively unaware of the stark difference between their childhood dreams and the ones they currently hold dear. It’s important to review your dreams from time to time in order to adjust them accordingly and make sure you’re on track with accomplishing your goals in life. Here’s how my own dreams changed over the course of my lifetime. When I was a little girl, I would dream of how life might be. In my dreams, everything was just…
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A Typical Friday’s Child
I was born on a Friday morning, and I recently returned to the house where I was born on a Friday, almost 30 years later, a typical Friday’s child. The house was a moment froze in time, as if nothing had changed since I walked out the front door at the tender age of 8. I still remember the dimly lit hallway leading upstairs, the flocked red wallpaper, and the salt and pepper carpeting. Nothing had changed in all these years I spent away, stepping out the front door at age 8 as a small child, raised on promises. I made my way through life, living, growing, and thriving, only…
