This is a journal of all the good and bad parts of me.
The lazy and inspired parts.
The cringy and the talented.
This is my writing that I'm not always proud of but enjoyed the journey of writing. The parts of my writing I forced myself to write a...
"Think about your memoir. If you could give it a color, what color would it be? Why?"
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In my mind I imagine the birth of my sister to be blush pink, the faint kind that almost looks paler than it is pink. Maybe it was an important color the day that I forgot, or maybe it was just the color of the blankets I laid in.
I'm not sure why blush pink is important, I can't remember anything with that color, but could it have possibly been the baby blanket my sister was wrapped in as my mother rocked her with fragile arms? Possibly. I know pink could be used for a baby girl, but so could blue.
