White washed walls

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“It's up to you today to start making healthy choices. Not choices that are just healthy for your body, but healthy for your mind.”

― Steve Maraboli, Unapologetically You: Reflections on Life and the Human Experience

19 November 1995. The worst day in the world. The day my life began. The day my mother died because of me. The day my mother had to be cut open to save me. Apparently, my father and mother had agreed, that if the birth went wrong, and he had to choose between her, or me, he must choose me. And guess what? That happened. I was a prem baby. An early birth, or in other words… a pain in the ass. My mother had to be operated on to save me. My father, however, treated me pretty well. We were normal. If you can define normal. I used to be happy. Very happy.

First day of school. “Daddy, I will miss you!” I said. Clutching on to my dad’s leg. I saw so many things that day. Really tall and big 8 year olds, adult looking 10 year olds. Smiling teachers. Kids, just like me, playing dolls, or building castles. Everything a ‘fun’ school could have, but I wanted my daddy. He bent down, ‘Annabelle, baby, you have to go love. I promise you, you won’t miss me one bit.” “Pinkie promise?” I asked. He smiled. “pinkie promise.”  He linked our little fingers and I giggled, Hugged him one last time, and ran into the class. He kept his promise. It was the best day of my life. Happy.

That continued on for the rest of primary school (elementary school). It was amazing. I was popular. And I loved it.