When I was a little girl I loved to write. I liked to read to but I wasn’t into novels then either so mostly I read something (literally anything) out of our beautiful encyclopedia Britannica set. I really loved that set. I remember when my dad first bought it. He was so proud. I imagine, being how I am now, he felt like breaking a generational curse of old not only being able to buy the books but the fact that your children could freely read the books. My heart smiles at the moment.
I liked writing poetry. I still have some pieces that I wrote when I was as young as nine. I would pour out my deepest feelings and my darkest secrets. I stayed with my face in a notebook. So much so, my mother actually banned me from my room unless I was cleaning it or sleeping. It was ridiculous 🙄 and I hated it. 😒 It just didn’t make sense to me. Of course, as I got older I realized it was just to get me out of my shell. As an adults, especially a black woman, it would be hard to maneuver through life with my face in a book.
It may have backfired a little bit because I became something like a menace. My mom says I didn’t do anything out of the norms of a regular teenager but to me, *clutches pearls*.🤭
Life happened. Children happened. Family happened. All this happening and I completely lost myself. I still found time to read but barely. As the children have gotten older, I am finding more time to read and take deep dives down history’s rabbit holes. But, social media is such a slippery slope and I was sliiiiiiiiding hunny. 🤦🏾♀️
Now, that I have been banned from Facebook and Instagram (I didn’t even do nuffin’) I am able to pivot and have been back to the thing I love the most. (You’re right, my children may read this one day 🥴) I mean, love the most after my children 😬. Reading. 🥰
I am considering NOT appealing the Meta decision and going on about my merry life. Because for the first time in a LONG time, I feel like me again.
And I love it here! ❤️
