Recipe for China
- 1 microphone - this microphone represents my loud voice that carries on to others to have my opinion shared with the world
- 1 cup of rice - this rice represents how it is hard to gain my trust but once you get me in a comfortable state I soften up
- 3 rolls of Dough - the dough represents how I am nice and caring towards others but once you get me mad I build a shell towards you
- 5 colorful crayons - these crayons describe my love to create stuff
- 1 backpack - this back pack represents my readiness towards a better education
- 1 puzzle - this puzzle represents a puzzle that only 1 person can put together, that will be in my future
- 1 leaf - this leaf represents, how I portray a hard, crunchy outside, yet in 1 tiny crush I break down
Mixing all this together you should be able to put together something a little like...
A normal birth...
Being in the womb for 9 months seemed like a challenge for me, as if someone wanted to see if I could last that long. I was impatient in the womb because I couldn’t wait to jump out and face the world, to see what kind of obstacles and challenges life was about to hand me. I was a firework waiting to be lit. I would see the world through my mom’s eyes and I saw everyone awaiting my arrival. I always wondered what it was like to be out there, you know. With everyone, laughing, enjoying each other’s presence and seeing the world for themselves. I wondered how she was so big yet I was so small. And the thing I wondered the most was why people talked to me in this high pitched voice mumbling as if I couldn't understand. I was just ready to see the world for myself and have my own answers so I karate chopped my way out.
My mother was sitting at home when her contractions began. They were very constant, and the most interesting and abnormal part about it, they didn't hurt, they only tickled. She couldn't stop laughing. My dad was so shocked that he ran outside and into the car, he got everything ready to take off to the hospital and wait for the precious gift that they were about to receive. On the way, my dad had trouble with direction and by the time they finally got there my mother was 200 cm dilated. Even though my mother was so dilated I wouldn't come out, my little hand was holding on with all its might. When I came out blood wouldn't stop dripping. There was enough to fill a whole pool. When they pulled me out I had the hick ups. Bubbles came out every time. Then when they thought I was calm, I began to sing. Finally when I was all calm they gave me to my mom. My mom was so happy I was okay. Once she held me I began to change colors, but quickly changed colors to yellow. My mom wasn't shocked. From then on anything I did wasn't unusual, just me.
Tons of people came to the hospital to see me. They all said I was an adorable little gift. They were flashes going off every minute. I then decided to close my eyes. During my sleep I would mumble to myself, I would try reminding myself of things that had happened and people’s name who came to see me. I was constantly talking to myself which explains why I have the mouth of a chatterbox. I loved it though. I love how people would talk to me when I wouldn't even talk back. I guess that's where I grew a love of people and their stories.
My mom was constantly saying that someone important was coming. I didn't really know who. Then all of a sudden a man with a long beard comes in. He starts talking in a different way I wasn't used to. He doubted whether my father was even the father. He was appalled by my light skin when he saw me. He asked why my eyes were so small, and why I had the curliest locks. He said, “Tienes pello de china, y te ves como un chino con tu cara y ojos” I didn't know what to grasp of it then. All I knew was that since then the nick name china would carry on through my childhood to my teenage years and so on.The nickname china absolutely created a whole new look on me. It was a name that fit me even more than my own name.
My child hood was a point in time that built my character to which I am today, a loud energetic, chatterbox, questioning kid. It brought me where I belong. Here, on earth with everyone else to share my story and to hear others. My ways of always questioning is to help me know my rights. My ways of social communication was to have people understand my voice and for me to hear others. China is just a adjective to me, describing me. I know was brought to bring a new change in the world. To help others.
My mother was sitting at home when her contractions began. They were very constant, and the most interesting and abnormal part about it, they didn't hurt, they only tickled. She couldn't stop laughing. My dad was so shocked that he ran outside and into the car, he got everything ready to take off to the hospital and wait for the precious gift that they were about to receive. On the way, my dad had trouble with direction and by the time they finally got there my mother was 200 cm dilated. Even though my mother was so dilated I wouldn't come out, my little hand was holding on with all its might. When I came out blood wouldn't stop dripping. There was enough to fill a whole pool. When they pulled me out I had the hick ups. Bubbles came out every time. Then when they thought I was calm, I began to sing. Finally when I was all calm they gave me to my mom. My mom was so happy I was okay. Once she held me I began to change colors, but quickly changed colors to yellow. My mom wasn't shocked. From then on anything I did wasn't unusual, just me.
Tons of people came to the hospital to see me. They all said I was an adorable little gift. They were flashes going off every minute. I then decided to close my eyes. During my sleep I would mumble to myself, I would try reminding myself of things that had happened and people’s name who came to see me. I was constantly talking to myself which explains why I have the mouth of a chatterbox. I loved it though. I love how people would talk to me when I wouldn't even talk back. I guess that's where I grew a love of people and their stories.
My mom was constantly saying that someone important was coming. I didn't really know who. Then all of a sudden a man with a long beard comes in. He starts talking in a different way I wasn't used to. He doubted whether my father was even the father. He was appalled by my light skin when he saw me. He asked why my eyes were so small, and why I had the curliest locks. He said, “Tienes pello de china, y te ves como un chino con tu cara y ojos” I didn't know what to grasp of it then. All I knew was that since then the nick name china would carry on through my childhood to my teenage years and so on.The nickname china absolutely created a whole new look on me. It was a name that fit me even more than my own name.
My child hood was a point in time that built my character to which I am today, a loud energetic, chatterbox, questioning kid. It brought me where I belong. Here, on earth with everyone else to share my story and to hear others. My ways of always questioning is to help me know my rights. My ways of social communication was to have people understand my voice and for me to hear others. China is just a adjective to me, describing me. I know was brought to bring a new change in the world. To help others.
Questioning Everything & Anything
Growing up, in my eyes I had the perfect life. I only thought this way because I was so sheltered from everything, the real world problems, the reality of my family and other situations. I couldn't have asked for more when I was small. I had both parents, I had a house that wasn't too small, I had a pool, and my parents got me as much as they could. Then as I hit 11 years a seed for revolutionary thinking made its way inside of me to blossom into the person I am today.
Since prior to my parents’ divorce was when I noticed events, and problems other than in my world. My revolutionary thinking was slowly building up. Growing up I had attended both Christian and Catholic Church. My father really didn't seem to care about religion to much until my brother was born. At that point he began to be in touch with god and became a devoted Christian. My mother had grown up a catholic though, so my dad’s side of the family would scold her in certain ways. They had different religions but to be it didn't matter. I called myself a halfie. I tended to go to my dad’s side of the family more since they were larger and kids my age. Being over there and spending the night meant I went to Christian church. I had never been to Christian church, so seeing their way of teaching was all new to me. When I wasn't over there I went to Catholic Church. But, being with my dad’s family meant my grandfather always preached about no premarital sex, no children before marriage, no divorces, no drugs, etc. He felt a need to enforce it to my family more because my mother was Catholic. He never liked that. Growing up in that situation it only put me in a bigger puzzle. How was I supposed to believe in someone when I had two contradicting parents and I was going to both churches?
Once my parents divorced, it damaged my connection with God even more than I thought. I began to question anything and everything. I asked why me? Why this? Why? I had yet to receive any answers. I went to Catholic Church one Sunday with my mom and Christian church the next with my dad. I had no tolerance for religion by then. Suddenly, I just stopped attending. I was tired of every bit of my life.
Going through the divorce and my frustration with god, I grew a fear of dying. I thought I wouldn't go to Heaven if I didn't believe in God which was the cause of my fear. So I forced myself to believe. I used religion to protect me. I thought that God would know whether I believed in him or not. I had a blinding faith. From then on, I just said I was Christian to certain people and catholic to others.
In freshmen year, I went on a trip to go see the Dalia lama. I was ecstatic to go when Jaimee asked me. The car ride there was so much fun but when I was finally in the room with him, he had a presence no one could explain. He talked about his life and experiences he went through .Then someone hit him with a question, “Do you believe in other religions?” He made no hesitation to answer, “I acknowledge other religions, I don't deny them.” It hit me then. Here, I have the Dalia Lama, not just anyone, telling me he accepts other religions. Someone who is admired for the highest rank in Buddhism was accepting other religions. I then figured out where I stood. I wasn't religious at all. I wasn't Christian or Catholic or Buddhist. The religion I was, was personal. I believed in god, and that's what I know. I had my own personal relationship with him. No one person or religion can make certain guidelines to follow to define my relationship with God. God knew me for me. My questioning came to a halt, and my connection with God became stronger.
Since prior to my parents’ divorce was when I noticed events, and problems other than in my world. My revolutionary thinking was slowly building up. Growing up I had attended both Christian and Catholic Church. My father really didn't seem to care about religion to much until my brother was born. At that point he began to be in touch with god and became a devoted Christian. My mother had grown up a catholic though, so my dad’s side of the family would scold her in certain ways. They had different religions but to be it didn't matter. I called myself a halfie. I tended to go to my dad’s side of the family more since they were larger and kids my age. Being over there and spending the night meant I went to Christian church. I had never been to Christian church, so seeing their way of teaching was all new to me. When I wasn't over there I went to Catholic Church. But, being with my dad’s family meant my grandfather always preached about no premarital sex, no children before marriage, no divorces, no drugs, etc. He felt a need to enforce it to my family more because my mother was Catholic. He never liked that. Growing up in that situation it only put me in a bigger puzzle. How was I supposed to believe in someone when I had two contradicting parents and I was going to both churches?
Once my parents divorced, it damaged my connection with God even more than I thought. I began to question anything and everything. I asked why me? Why this? Why? I had yet to receive any answers. I went to Catholic Church one Sunday with my mom and Christian church the next with my dad. I had no tolerance for religion by then. Suddenly, I just stopped attending. I was tired of every bit of my life.
Going through the divorce and my frustration with god, I grew a fear of dying. I thought I wouldn't go to Heaven if I didn't believe in God which was the cause of my fear. So I forced myself to believe. I used religion to protect me. I thought that God would know whether I believed in him or not. I had a blinding faith. From then on, I just said I was Christian to certain people and catholic to others.
In freshmen year, I went on a trip to go see the Dalia lama. I was ecstatic to go when Jaimee asked me. The car ride there was so much fun but when I was finally in the room with him, he had a presence no one could explain. He talked about his life and experiences he went through .Then someone hit him with a question, “Do you believe in other religions?” He made no hesitation to answer, “I acknowledge other religions, I don't deny them.” It hit me then. Here, I have the Dalia Lama, not just anyone, telling me he accepts other religions. Someone who is admired for the highest rank in Buddhism was accepting other religions. I then figured out where I stood. I wasn't religious at all. I wasn't Christian or Catholic or Buddhist. The religion I was, was personal. I believed in god, and that's what I know. I had my own personal relationship with him. No one person or religion can make certain guidelines to follow to define my relationship with God. God knew me for me. My questioning came to a halt, and my connection with God became stronger.