Writing and speaking has never come effortless to me. Ever since I was younger I’ve always been a quiet and timid child. I kept to myself most of the time because I felt like an outcast and I was terrified of speaking to people. Writting is also as hard as speaking because it's so hard trying to put sentences together that actually make sense and express what I'm trying to say. I may not be the best writter but I'm giving writting a shot and see how things turn out.
I was born in the summer of the year 1998, in Mexico. I spent about four years before my parents decided to come to the states to provide me with a better life than they had growing up in Mexico. I absolutely do not recall anything about Mexico, at times I feel like I don’t really belong from anywhere. Around 2002 I arrived in California where me and my parents started living with my uncle in this blue house with a huge yard. As a small child this house was magnificent. They had a large trampoline which we would refer to it as “el brinco, brinco” which means “the jump jump” in English.
Everything seemed to be perfect but as a small child I didn’t understand how incredibly poor and unhappy my parents were. When we first arrived here we didn’t even have a car so when me and my mother had to go somewhere we had to take the bus. The bus was the most amazing thing in the world to my younger self because I would think of it as this huge limousine. We spent some months with my uncle but soon we had to move out. I never understood why but now I know why we had to move out. We weren’t wanted, that’s why. My uncles wife kicked us out because we were taking up space. She probably regrets that now because look at us now and take a look at her life.
We spent the next couple years moving around. Why did we kept moving around you may ask? They didn’t want us around so it was better to kick us out. When I was 6 we finally found somewhere we could call home. It was a garage in the back of this really sweet old lady. We were still very poor but how could a little 6 year old understand that at the time. Soon I was 7 and half way through second grade we had to move again.
This is only the beginning of the crazy thing I call my life. Its always been imperfect and I don't expect that to change but maybe writting about my crazy problems then maybe then I'll be able to resolve them by writting about the events that lead up to the place where I am now.
( I'm not doing this for attention or for pity, I'm doing this to help me reslove things and maybe help others who deal with the same things. Anywho I might keep writting If I get a comment or two but as of now I'm unsure. If you read this I truly appreciate that)
