About a year ago I started writing a book after a couple major events in my life occurred. So I thought that for my first blog entry, I would simply post the first chapter. I'm not a good writer, in fact, I write the way I talk, which isn't always a good thing. I never intended for this book to be public so for anyone reading, this is your lucky day!
Here we go:
Chapter 1
While my story starts in 2008, really, it’s an
ongoing story for many. Many much like me, like my friends, like my sisters.
It’s a battle for life, for love, for acceptance, for dignity, identity. This
is me, so I dare you, challenge you even, to look between my eyes.
It was May 2008, strangely still
cold outside, yet warm air seeped in on the occasion. I was coated in Nike under
armor standing on first base plate of the JV softball field. I was fifteen
years old. Just started my period only a couple months’ prior, so I suppose
womanhood had arrived- so they say. What does that even mean? I didn’t feel
womanly. I barely felt girly. I started producing acne like it was my job,
bitched at my mother for doing absolutely nothing wrong, and wished I looked like
some prettier version of Blake Lively. The only thing going for me was my
boyfriend sitting in the bleachers. We had been dating for 3 months and 4 days
so rightly so, he was there watching me. My dad hadn’t arrived yet, and my mom
was too career focused to show up to this particular game apparently. None of
my friends were there at first, and then to my surprise, two showed up. It was
shocking, I used to beg my two best friends to come to my games and then all of
sudden they were there, judging by the running shorts and sneakers, they must ran
to the fields. It was so unlike them. They’re the laziest girls I know.
Athletic by nature obviously, but I always assumed asking them to attend a game
was rhetorical request. Who the hell comes to a high school softball game?
Other than the oh so loving parents, and boyfriends that just wanted to get some?
But nonetheless, they were there. When it was our turn to bat, I ran to see
them, they were frozen solid from the run. And they were acting weird-
something I didn’t see out of place. We’ve been three best friends since the 7th
grade. And we were so fucking weird. We did weird things, said weirder things,
acted like we ran the school, and everyone else thought so too. Those who
didn’t understand our humor hated us. We laughed at people, judged those who
didn’t look or dress like us but we didn’t care. We had each other and that’s
all that mattered.
This day however, was different.
Off, in some way but I couldn’t figure out how. Why would they show up on the
coldest day of the season, wearing only shorts, to the most boring game played
ever? They looked at me with emotions built up in their eyes. Almost as if I
said one wrong thing, they would crumble into each other’s arms and start
sobbing. I wasn’t about to stand that so I just ignored their presence until
the game was over. The game ended, naturally, with victory on my side, and the
two potential crybabies approached me, pulled me away from the team, and began
to speak.
The next twenty minutes of my life
almost felt as though time had slowed. The words that fell from their mouths were
muffled and deep as if they said it all underwater. As tears dumped out of
their eyes, anger fell from mine. I dropped my bag and ran into the locker
room, a place of peace- so I thought. I remember slamming shut a locker door
and breathing heavily as my heart raced. My eyes and head both felt like they
had a pulse, beating out of their normal rhythm. When I finally turned around,
I saw my dad, standing arms open, waiting for me to collapse into them, and I
did.
Seven years is too little for a life
to end. Too short of a time lived on this earth and yet, seven years was all
this little girl had. The little sister I used to beg my parents for came to me
through another family and then was gone. I was told that she was put on life
support, having only 24 hours left to live and that family and friends were
allowed to go say our goodbyes. Shaking at the thought of saying my first
goodbye to a loved one still gives the chills to this day. I remember sitting
in the car, wearing a stupid yellow hoodie, trying to think of what I could
possibly say to this family, to this lifeless little princess, and to myself.
It felt like I was gliding through the hospital halls. My feet were moving
slower than my brain and I could barely breathe. When I reached the room where
she lay, I just stood there. Terrified that if I went in, it would all become
real. Until that very moment, I was sure this was a fantasy. That this illusion
is something cooked up in my mind, that I could turn off this nightmare. But it
wasn’t a fantasy at all.
“What are you doing here?” asked the
mom slowly. She sounded genuine, shocked, and scared all at once.
She
was shocked that I would dare come to see her baby girl like this. She wanted
me to remember her for the bubbly, beautiful little angel that she was. Not
this way. This way was wrong, everything about the situation was wrong, is
wrong. A seven year old is not supposed to die.
I
couldn’t talk. My mind couldn’t think of a good enough reason. What was I doing there? Why would I want to
see her like this? What did I think it would accomplish? Instead of responding,
I fell into her loving arms, like I always have, and sobbed. I remember trembling
as I finally got the courage to approach the tiny hospital bed. She was still
breathing, not because her body would allow it, but because the machines and
tubes forced her to. I sat down, and for two hours, I didn’t move from that
chair. I couldn’t, I was just as motionless as she was. My head started to hurt
from my beating headache and my eyes couldn’t produce anymore tear ducts yet I somehow
still couldn’t control my crying. I held onto her tiny hand, painted with pink
nail polish, hoping and praying with everything in me, that she would be my
miracle, that at the end, she would wake up, she would defy the odds, beat the
system. See, this girl represented life in my eyes. She was a better daughter
than I was, that I am. She loved and was loved. She was energetic, full of
life, and now, she was gone. It never happened, she never woke up. Instead, on
May 8, 2008, this precious little girl passed away.
From that day on, my life has yet to
be a fairytale, but still I am not searching for any sort of ending just yet,
whether it is a happy one or not. I am not saying my life is awful, I am not
even saying my life is bad. But my life, is complicated. It’s dramatic. You
see, you’ll learn quickly that I’ve loved, I’ve laughed at nothing, I’ve cried
for no reason, I’ve spread rumors, I’ve lied- many times, to many people. I’ve
changed, grown, matured, even given up at times. I’ve drank, had sex, smoked, but that doesn’t make me a badass teenager, I’d like to believe it simply
makes me human. Something I am still learning to be. I am watching the people
around me; I’m making mistakes, while making progress. And four years later, I
am still searching for womanhood. I am not a bad person but I’m the farthest
thing from perfect. Perfect is Lea Michel, and even she has flaws- I think.
Where this story truly starts is senior year to the present. When life tests my
ability to be a rationale human being, to be a devoted student, to remain a loyal
friend, and a sister to some of the most amazing women, in my life.
Until next time,
Chani
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