What A Beautiful Sight...

     Looking in the coffin, I see her face, looking beyond beautiful. All I can do is reminisce over all the times we’ve had together. After all of these years, who would’ve known that today I’d be standing here, looking down at her gorgeous face? As the tears begin to form, I realize how much this hurts. The more I hurt, the more I realize this isn’t a dream. The more I hurt, the more I begin to look back on our memories.


A tear slides down my cheek…

     At the age of five, my grandmother and I are cleaning and cooking. She asked me to help her dash some spices into the vegetable soup. As I began to try, she’s running towards me saying “Girl, you’re putting entirely too much! Give me that!”

     I gave her the bottle and said, “Well granny, do you expect me to ever be able to properly do anything if you’re always taking it away from me? Life consists of making mistakes, I have to learn from them.”

     She began to laugh and now I’m angry. I’m thinking that this anger is just because I’m a child and I can’t accept constructive criticism. I still chose to be angry though. After thinking about the situation, I began to laugh also. She thinks I’m laughing at her, but also I’m thinking of a way to make her uncomfortable like she’s making me. I knew that she never really liked anyone to kiss on her because when my sister tried to kiss her the other day, she wiped it off. Once we finished cleaning and sat down to eat, I’m sitting here pretending to be interested in the conversations we are having. The whole entire time, I’m plotting up how I’d get the chance to get her back. She got up to place her plate in the dish washer and this was the perfect time to do exactly what I wanted. I reached over, grabbed her jaw, and gave her the biggest, wettest, sloppiest kiss! I quickly ran to my room, turned around and stuck my tongue out at her! We started to fall out in the floor laughing; this was the most hilarious moment ever!


Another tear falls…

I’m nine years old on this warm, summer night. We’re sitting in the truck, waiting on my brother to get out of basketball practice. As time passed, I began to get very tired and cranky. I honestly didn’t want to wait any longer, I wanted to go home! I usually could get away with pouting and crying, but apparently she wasn’t in the mood tonight. I started crying and begging for her to take me home, even though I knew she wasn’t going to take me because that’d be a waste of gas. I wanted to go home though, and I wanted to go now! The more I thought about leaving, the more I began to cry. I’m just sitting here crying out all of the anger I have built inside. I’d cry even harder every time she told me to stop. As I turned to look out the back window, I felt something slap my thigh. The spot began to sting as I felt slaps after slaps. It was then I realized, for the first time, my grandmother was giving me a whipping!


The tears are flowing, I don’t know if they’ll ever stop…

My mother’s talking to me and my sister as we’re on the way to Granny’s house. She asked “Girls, what type of food did you two ask mother to cook for Thanksgiving?”

We began to reply with a enormous list of dishes we’d asked her to prepare, then asked “What did you ask Granny to make?”

She said, “With everything you two just named, I have no reason to ask her to cook anything!”

We laughed. Once we pulled into Granny’s yard, the delicious aromas instantly hit my nose. Before we could get to the door, there she stood, saying “Everything’s done girls, go ahead in the kitchen and eat!”

It seemed as though that was all I needed to here, I was the first one to reach the kitchen and fill up my plate. We all sat down at the table and ate our Thanksgiving food and shared the reasons why we were so thankful. When everyone was finished eating, we went into the living room to watch television. I wanted to spend the night, but I knew that later on my mother and I were going shopping, in addition my grandmother had to go to work the next day. We sat with her for a little while longer, but after a while it was time to go. I went to get my jacket and leaned over and gave my granny a big hug! Then I told her “I’ll see you later, Granny. I love you.”

After saying our farewells, we got in the car and left.

Now I remain standing here looking at you, as though something won’t let me move from this particular spot to take my seat. As all of the tears continue to fall, the more I constantly think about all of the special moments we‘ve had. I keep looking up towards Heaven asking “Why,” but only the man above knows the answer to that question. I keep telling myself, “This is beyond unbelievable. This is undreamed of.” I know God makes no mistakes, but I never knew you’d have to go so soon. I miss you.

I'm Allergic To Words...

Never, never, never have I ever really liked to read. As a toddler my parents and family bought books for my twin and I, but it was always just a waste of money. Unless ripping them up wasn't a waste? During my childhood, I had to be forced to read. School and my grades was the only motivation I had to even allow myself to look at a book’s title. It’s as though I hated reading with a burning passion; books made my skin crawl!

As I continued to get older, years growing and growing, my outlook started to change. I began to attempt to pick up a book, even though I’d only read a few pages, I still tried. I honestly don’t think reading will ever catch my attention. I have no type of yearning for English, literature; nothing in those categories. Maybe that could be one of the reasons why I don’t like reading. 

When I became a teenager, I was only interested in books that caught my attention. Some consisted of comics, horror, and even romance. I loved romantic books more than anything. I believe that being a teenager, “growing up,” and beginning the stage of conversing with boys caused me to enjoy these books so much. 

Then, it all came to a stand still once I entered high school. I haven’t flipped the pages of a book every since this summer. Now, I hate reading again. I dislike reading short sentences on my classwork or homework that tell me directions. It’s crazy how things could flip-flop so much over just a few years.

I honestly feel deep down inside of me, that reading is not for me. I understand anyone that can read, should read, but it’s not something that interests me. I’ve always wanted to change this about myself, but it just never seems to work. I once read the quote “Practice makes perfect,” and that’s exactly what I’ll do.

I am... Teaira! :)

I am goofy and curious.
I wonder will things ever go right?

I hear music coming from down the street.

I see millions of beautiful butterflies.

I want to prove the sky isn't the limit, it's much more.

I am goofy and curious.

I pretend as though everything's perfect.

I feel loved for who I am.

I touch basketballs.

I worry about others feelings.

I cry when I'm mistreated.

I am goofy and curious.

I understand there are goals in order to make it in life.

I say God is my everything.

I dream of success.

I try to make everyone happy.

I hope one day I'll make my family proud.

I am goofy and curious.

Everyone Has Opinions!

        In the world, there are billions of people. Tell me how something that seemed so unreal, could change the outlook on some of their lives? "The Handsomest Drowned Man" by Gabriel Marquez opened my eyes and proved to me the way things like this could happen.

       This story tells of a non-ordinary man washing up to shore, and no one knowing who he was. To start off he was covered in scales and crust of mud. As the men of the town went to check around and make sure no one was missing from the village, the women stayed around to help clean the man up. During the period of time, they noticed how irregular the man was. They mentioned that he weighed much more than any dead man they knew, also he was taller than any other man. In my opinion, all of this seems to be so unreal, but yet convincing. Towards the middle of the story, the women basically worshipped the man; all because of his "handsome looks." He was so handsome that his affect upon them made them compare their men to him. I wonder how the men felt being compared to a abnormal, dead man?

       As a reminder of the handsomest drowned man, they changed their homes. These people chose to make their doors wider, ceilings higher, and floors stronger who would've known that a dead man could do such things, all because of his looks? The handsomest drowned man was pretty amazing!!