ASSIGNMENTS:
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Vannesa Hamilton
Purchase, New York USA
Email Vannesa
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REPORTS:
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I was born on August 3, 1986 at 9:45 AM. My parents seperated when I was 1 month old.When I was 6 months old, I was dropped on a rosebush and as a result have a scar right between my bottom lip and chin. My mother married my stepfather when I was two.My younger sister was born when I was three.Spanish is actually my first language; I didnt learn English until I got into school. I started my schooling when I was four, when I entered preschool.The school allowed for the parent to choose what kindergarten class to go to; once there, you were stuck forever. My mother picked for me to go with the Mexican teacher because my mom's racist, even though she doesn't realize it. I didnt like the class, so I fabricated the following story. I had to go up in front of the class to prsent my story about santa and reindeer; the kids and the teacher laughed at me because Im black. This was a well thought out story considering that I was five and I was indeed the only black child in the entire school; other than my brother. We had a meeting with the principle and the teacher denied everything of course. I ended up in the class I wanted and I have no idea what happened to the teacher. I regret using my race as an advantage . Yet, I ended up in a really good class; so I don't know. The city I lived in until halfway through third grade was Maywood, CA; 15 mins from East LA.I was so happy in the tiny little town; now that I look back on it, it was a really bad neighborhood, my mother just shielded us form everything. I spent my weekends in East LA all the time because my mother owned aprtments there. I always found the tenants interesting, with their curse words coming out of their mouths and into my mother's ears, 100 miles a minute. In kindergarten, I developed my first crush, Andrew. He was so shy he wouldnt speak.One day, I saw him speak to his mother and was suprised to say the least. The next day, I announced this titilating fact in front of the class; he never spoke to me again. By far, my best years in school were first, second, and sixth grade. This is because I had the greatest teachers. For first and second, I had Ms. Delgado. I firmly believe she is the best teacher ever and every child in the entire world must have her as a teacher. Sixth grade, I had two teachers though I preferred Mrs. Cmelak over Ms. Boren; she was so much nicer. In between, I became the queen of handball,basketball and softball, was a munchkin in the Wizard of Oz, and had my crush revealed to the entire school by my best friend at the time(which is why I now do not speak of my crushes).In middle school, I began realizing that my mother was certainly not the woman she appeared to be in my younger years. In ninth grade, the shit really hit the fan. It was all unraveled and set on the table. I began contemplating running away from home and never looking back. Of course, I never did this because I was scared. Throughout high school, I distanced myself from everyone and emersed myself in music.I met my biological father when I was sixteen, as well as that part of my family. It was overwhelming and weird. First off, I considered myself Mexican prior to that because thats all I knew(even though to the world, I was black) so to meet my other side was crazy. Second, the conversations were awkward because they had missed 16 years and I didnt know where to start. Ive only spoken to them once since then; I dont know what to do. I havent spoken to him sicnce then; last time I visited, he did not come; its a good probability that its because he's back on drugs. Then, summer after graduation came and I went to Europe. Some stuff happened there that is so crazy that I cant even begin to explain. I left for college in NY and had four layovers. It was my second time on an airplane(the first being my trip to Europe); I was very frightened. I of course didnt show it; I seemed indifferent.My appearence of being indifferent has saved me over the years; although I certainly feel, lately anyway, that there are cracks in the facade. My roomate turned out to be not as bad as I feared and thats not saying much.I had to leave early to go home because my grandmother died due to complications of AIDS. I still regret not being able to see her once more before she passed. Her death hit me like a pile of bricks; I had no idea why. Maybe it was because my mother hadnt talked to me first semester until she was forced to; to tell me my grandmother was dying. When I went home, there was alot of fighting; it was the usual. At the funeral, I cried like Ive never cried before; it was actually the first time my older sister's had seen me cry since I was a child. I ended up with a single 2nd semester and it was awesome I had grown annoyed with a particular person. I dont really talk to her anymore; I wouldnt mind if I never talk to her again. I really got into politics and activism 2nd semester. When I went back home, I ended up sleeping in the room in which my grandmother passed away. I actually felt comforted and not disgusted or creeped out. It was weird. This school year, I procrastinated as usual, went to Washington DC and Georgia, learned more about female genital mutilation, pierced my nose, made coffee for the first time, saw a chipmunk for the first time, sent a package to Carrie, played truth or dare for the first time, and remained with the wall up. Painted shoes, learned how to knit, became more politically conscious(if thats possible), and remained the same.
Today, I am writing all day, in my room, all alone, and I'm enjoying it. Sometimes, just sometimes, I enjoy being by myself. Okay, I lied,all the time really.
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