When I was two years old, my mother and father decided to move into a different place: An apartment. We remained in the same apartment for seven more years. The memories I have will forever be with me. I remember the day we decided to move in. We had lovely neighbors and the top apartment was ours. We had the apartment number 4B. We had help coming in, and we were open to helping anyone also. I had a few friends, but soon things change. Trashing, fighting, "stoop hanging", cops being called. one of the apartment complex burned down. It changed me. It changed us. We had a different view on life after that. I never judge. I lived there. I love living there. That was my home. My place. My casa. My treasure.

Million of times I can recalled the fights and verbal arguments I had with my friend. She is like my mother. In so many ways. Accepted child. Smart good grades girl. Christian young lady. Growing up, she follow rules and directions. When even upset she still respected her folks. Her name is DeAndrea. She's my sister. She's my best friend in the entire world. I remember one time, we argue about the bathroom not being clean enough. Clothes being wash. anything and everything. I can also remember her holding out a hug to me when I'm crying or feeling down. She is my heart. Always and forever will be. She's loves me. I love her. That is my sister. She knows me. More than anyone.

My cousin. a beloved. sweet. innocent girl but with a brutal. Beating. Heart was known to be in trouble--and lots of times. Throughout her life, fights and arguments fell her way. All the disputes and anger she had bolted up inside of her soul. The only thing she knew was trouble. Latasha "Tasha" Ellis is the name. They called her. She was a mean average. Short girl with a less patience and a lot of anger. Although, she was the cousin who was known to be in and out of jail. In handcuffs. Seen in prison, and talking on collected calls. Although, she did the things she did. One thing I'll never forget is how much I love her. How she change-- to be better. I am so proud of her. How far she came.

Her kids was close in age. The children range from 0 to 12. She lived across the street diagonal from me. Her apartment was burned down eventually due to chronic stress. It was also drug relations. Her children were ship off to social services. My neighbor's name was Jane. She was a crack related mother with a lot of "kids". She barely had time to even get a chance to clean up. She had a job. Ask for crack during the day. Smoke it at night. I remember this lady everyday for as long as I live. I remember her screams when she couldn't get what she needed. I remember I was on my stoop while she left her kids in the house to go find "dope". When her apartment burned down. she lost her "kids". but most importantly she lost herself. She never seen the lady since that day, She never really got helped. She wanted to. She was looking for love also. In many different places.

When me and my sister arrived at the shoe store. We were surprise. Their was pretty shoes. Gorgeous shoes. Ugly shoes. Flat shoes. All types of shoes. It appeal to us to size the shoe store has. One day arriving at the shoe store. A homeless woman was there. She had a gift of picking out the right kind of shoes. I had no taste in picking their awful shoes. But I had no other option, so I went with it. However, somewhat she came in and pick the right shoes out for me. In less than 2 minutes. The shoes she pick was "lucky" shoes. They helped me whenever decision I was in. I Thank that same lady till this day. When I entered 5th grade. The shoes got ruin.

No one never taught me how to make my own lunch. When I began to get hungry. I was let's say. Two at the time when creating my own lunch. Daddy was asleep in the bed. He was tired. Worked at night. Slept through the day. I peep through the crib. Saw everything and the door was open. My crib was a low cut brown open surface with fluffy gushing pillows. I really enjoyed sleeping on them at the time. My stomach began growling, and I unlock the pin and slide down. I finally wobble to the door and made my way through the kitchen. When I spotted a nearby chair, I began using it. I step on the chair. Got the bread. The butter knife. Carefully made [which I discovered] PB & J. From that day time, I never forgot how to make PB & J. I always remember it since I was two. Thanks Dad for always being asleep to let me know how to do things on my own.

May 20th 1997. That was my birthday. I celebrated my birthday many times, by myself. Many of the times, I receive cake and cards. On my twelve birthday. I wanted something different. I recalled the followed day by how I was born. What time. Where. What hospital. It amazed me at how fast I came from momma. Momma made me, carried me - for 9 whole months, and raised me. I couldn't hardly believe at how amazing it takes to be a mom. The next day, I decided for my birthday. I want to celebrated mom instead me. Why? I realize my mother had me on my birthday. If it wasn't for her, I wouldn't be here. Thanks mom. I love you. Everyday. Always and forever.

I learn to grow from my hips. I learn to love my hips. I love them because they make me who I am. When I first developed and came to a meeting with the terms of "Hips". I instantly felt like a woman. A brand new woman. A "lady". A "young women". I felt happy and encouraging. At first it didn't seem that way, I couldn't stand the fact of not finding jeans. Jeans that actually fit me. They can be made to shape me. Thanks to my mom she made me realize that its okay to have hips. Hips is attracted to your body for the love of being beautiful. I would never stop loving my hips. I learn to grow from my hips. I learn to love my hips because they make me who I am. Hips are perfect. My hips are perfect. I love them simply.

November 03 2008. It was the day that shocked my heart. The day that my whole "world" stood still. The day that I will remember for the rest of my life. The day our first African american president was to be elected the very next day. Sad, but grandpa wouldn't live to see it. Gone to heaven due to a heart attack. I remember the tears came flowing from my eyes like waterfalls. My mother who I call the strong one. She held my father up tight. My father's father passing was a tragic and totally stung. Two weeks before he died. We went to North Carolina to see him. We knew in our guts something was up. We knew God wanted us to see him before he made him home. Being dead isn't what hurts me the most. Its the memories that's left that you can't rekindle or bring up again. I'm blessed to have to meet him for many years. Atleast hear that he loves me before his death. He mean the world to me. Always will. Always have.

Patricia. Patricia Watson. My beloved Aunt. When I was younger, giving her hugs wasn't the problem. The problem was hugging her too tight. When you looked at her in her 'eighties photos, you look at a intelligent beautiful woman. I looked at her as inspiration. The moment I stood there as ten years old. I saw a woman, [my aunt] as that young woman in a photo. What I quite couldn't understand was the tool that was around her. She had it around her nose and the oxygen tank she carried on the side of her. Everytime she walked or was nearby you heard "tsh. tsh. tsh". That was the noise her oxygen made every 4 repeated seconds. This day in time, I got used to it. She's still the same normal woman she always been. The difference is, she is much stronger. Better, and healthier. I will never look at my Aunt as being sick. I will always look at her as a soldier. A soldier because shes [fighting]. She has every bit of it with strength.

Mothers are the best. Let's face it. they cook. Clean. Work, and tired but still manage to do what mothers do. My mother, Deloris is a supermom. She is a wonderful mom because she is my rock. She is strong. I especially love her because she knows anything that is wrong with me, she picks up on. I have a headache? Go to momma. I have a stomach ache ? Go to momma. I have school problems ? Go to momma. Momma is the best when it comes to being a mother. She does so much and is so strong. I remember when my sister caught got sick and she allow her to sleep with her all night. My mother is a healer. I say she is a healer because she prays for me daily as I do for her. She constantly watches television regarding God. The holy water of oil. She pours on my forehead at night. Momma knows my body and she knows it very well.

Matthew was his name. He was a gentle sweet innocent guy. He treated me like a queen. A lovely lady. I remember his breath. His face. His gorgeous white teeth mouth. He smiled so much at me, I literally could feel him in my presence. He was such a peaceful person. He achieved so much in his life. He even got a scholarship to Harvard University. God had a different plan. He took him way before he could even attend. He was my best friend. My rock. He was like a spring rainbow after a bad tropical storm. He brought people hugs and gifts and even my father adore him. When he exit out of my life, I knew I was doom. I never saw and met someone in my life that can truly bring me happiness. I am so relief and thank God I had a spare of a few years before he passed. After all, even the car accident couldn't keep us apart. Not at all.

White flowers are beautiful. Me? personally. I love every each of flowers. Every tone. Every position. Every color. I love flowers. The best flowers to me are white roses. White roses result in special gorgeous romance. White roses shows your passion for love. I remember sitting in a middle of spring leafs stems and spotting out a white rose. I cherish that white rose that day. It smelled fresh. It smelled clean. It was washed with pure innocence. I remember momma calling me in for dinner. I grab the white rose and carried it with me. After dinner was over, I grab a vase. Filled some water, and put that white rose in there. After four weeks, it decided to die. The white rose I had made me realize some things don't last forever.

I had many dreams. Many dreams I can recap the stories a thousand times. I've always had dreams. Special dreams. When I realize dreams can be real, I started daydreaming more. I picture myself in love with my future husband. He was latino. He had silk smooth wavy hair and built in shoulders. He had the most perfect row shining teeth. The most beautiful speaking lips. I picture myself as him being my prince and I'm his princess. He respect me in ways I couldn't even complain. Question was?". "Where was he"? "When will he come?". "When will we meet"? I realize dreams do come true, but hopefully they will come to be real. I dream of my prince coming one day. When that one day happens, It will be unexpected. When he decides to. The day he comes. I will be the most happiest woman alive.

Ms. Rose. Ms Emily Rose. Ms. Rose was a beautiful intelligent hispanic women. I enjoy being in her house. She always yell in Spanish. Whenever we came by her "Virgin Mary". I remember I always love the smell in her house. It smelled like pine trees. She was a short, but perfect ten body count. A boxer strong arms, with sparkling cut lips. She was like a golden egg that couldn't be touch. She was that special. The day I had to leave, I never forgot her. She handed me all of the things her daughter couldn't wear. I like dancing around to La bama. We would be learning how to thread and wine in sweaters. She was my second mom. She treated me like any other Hispanic women in her culture. She treated me with respect. All of it.

Karen the most gorgeous girl in 5th grade. I admired her, difference is- she admired me. I always knew that her Ethiopian spirit. Her stunning blue eyes amazed and awe every girl. Back then, everyone wanted to be a "Karen". The way she looks and speaks. The way she looks at you with her heavy black eye liner that connects to her cheekbone. The way she walks--smoothly. The way she touched you, gentle and kind. Her sweet innocent ways achieve every guy. I realize [myself] that she admired me. She questioned me one day, "Why are you so beautiful"? I was puzzled. "Excuse me,"? I said. "I think you have the wrong person". "No", she said, "I mean you, everything you do, I follow. Your my leader. Your my admired artist. I praised you". I was happy, but also shocked. She wanted to be herself instead of every guy symbol by her beauty. She wanted herself. She wanted Karen.

Honey bee. Honey bee the neighborhood called her. She was a woman. She was always falling on her faith hard. She go to to church. In the morning, work during the day. She come home hurt, hurt - emotional and physically hurt. Honeybee husband's Jose, loved her so much that he beat her. He thought that was the right thing to do to her. Why not? His father, Chavez did it to his mothers. Months and months their relationship were up and down. They argue. He beats. He leaves. He says sorry and comes back. Same situation on for months. One day, Honeybee was pronounced dead at 1:45 pm. Jose beat her to the core, she had brain damage, and died days later after no oxygen reaching her brain. Everyone had a memorial for her. Church members, and the community sang all night. I was there. It was beautiful. Honeybee's children moved. Their father sentenced to life in prison. Honeybee's name was Mariah.

Things was not always as it seems when situations occur. My mother lost her job in 2009. She was the most income, but now that my dad is working everything is okay. I know how it feels to struggle and cannot do everything you want to. You cannot do everything you want to because you probably don't have enough money. Things are more expensive and harder to keep. I remember traveling to Washington D.C. I began seeing homeless people all outside. I wanted to help. I decided to help. I felt so upset and hurt that many people was not getting the help they deserved. I set up on community service. I plot to the victims. I also serve to the ones who wanted it. Homeless isn't a proud thing to be. I know many victims include army survivals, veterans, people who lost their job. Many who couldn't afford it, etc. I would never make fun of any situation that happens with another person or what situation their in. I'm blessed, grateful, happy, and helping.

"I wish I could of went to school, after high school, and get my graduate degree". Momma says. My mother constantly talks about going to school. She ended up pregnant young, with my sister. When she graduate from high school. She did not know she was of pregnant with my father, [her husband] back then. She always wanted to have a higher paying job than what she had for 14 years. She wanted to be a cook, a maid, a painter, anything until she got pregnant. She's not regretting my sister, but she wish she could of waited. She always tells me "Delicia, don't focus on boys to much." "Focus on your education." "It's important." I love that she gives me advice. She always look out for whats best for me. I look to my mom and say "Mom, you still can be anything. Nothing is too late". She sighs and says "I know baby, I know".

Gina was always strong. She was strong then and even better now. Years ago, she lived in my neighborhood, with her boyfriend [Matthew] and baby [Gwen]. She was a tough strong mother. She stood for what was right. She never back down a fight, and she takes whatever happens. One day, Matt got so upset that he hit her. Her last and final straw. She packed up her bags. She phoned her parents. She left, and she left for good. She never saw Matthew again. Gwen was 13 years old when she saw her father again. She didn't know who he was. She told her mother later on that night, and her mother told her never to speak to strangers at all. Gwen grew up. She grew up in a different state. She got married, and had a kid of her own. She met her father when he was 66. She was 30. She said "Poppa, why you never noticed me"? He replied 'I've always noticed you, when your mother left, I watched you as you grow, kept everything you own, and follow you everywhere you go. I never left". She smiled and hug him.