I grew up in sunny Yuma, Arizona… the sunniest city in the nation. Not only was I surrounded by the literal sun, but I was surrounded by the warmest people, and vibrant conversation. Anytime I think of storytelling, I think of my grandma’s kitchen, where the conversation never stopped. It hopped between English and Spanish, as we gathered around making tortillas and horchata with my ever-growing Mexican family. The storytelling came from the experiences, laughter, and pain that my family felt vulnerable enough to share. It came from their passion and loud voice (that often ended in heated arguments, haha!). Storytelling to me is the feeling of vulnerability, yet comfort. This is exactly what happened on the little checkered 50s tile of my grandma’s kitchen, and that is why storytelling feels like a cozy home to me.
There are an abundance of qualities and experiences to have through The Creative Process. I’m excited about the wonderful opportunity! Being able to speak to people who I grew up reading, or even just recently admired, is exciting for me because I feel their advice and stories give such depth and can help me as a writer. Also, I feel like being a part of something bigger than myself is so deeply important to me. Addressing issues, history, and other topics really inspire me to use my own voice and inspire others. Lastly, I feel as though editing is something I really could enjoy and want to be a part of, whether in the podcasting world, the magazine world, or the book world – so I’m eager to learn more! Basically, I am just beyond curious and passionate, and know many great things will come through this opportunity.
Personally, I have launched a blog, Plot Twists, to allow my creative outlets to be shared on my life in NYC as a nineteen-year-old. I also aim to use this platform as a voice for many cultural and societal issues that I feel passionate about. I also am currently creating a poem book, “She grew,” to highlight the growth found within my emotions over the past year; a more personal outlet into my life. Lastly, I write many articles for HerCampus magazine through my university that is very near to my heart and brings about a more light-hearted writing that I enjoy.
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Last week, my mom sent me old videos she found about me writing songs while planting flowers in our backyard. I was dancing, singing, creating, while being a part of this newfound birth in nature. I took care of those flowers everyday and found the idea of nurturing so important at a young age. Those memories of planting the flowers, and keeping after them, really just reminded me the importance of nurturing nature and each other, and it makes me smile. It bonded my family even closer and helped us all remember the really important things in life--- loving one another. Today, I want to continue my pledge by finding appreciation for nature everyday and making a conscious effort to pour out my gratitude, so others can find inspiration as well. This can be posting about it on social media, my blog, and other platforms. I also make it a point to change the small things in my life to make a difference --- using reusable bags, bottles, and straws; natural makeup products; picking up trash from the street; and overall awareness. I also want to go forward with more action: volunteering at the beaches near me, helping at animal shelters, donating when possible to organizations for climate change, and really just educating myself more and more.
My mother broke her bones, and so will I
by Nina Hook
My mother broke her bones, and so will I
The mold
Pressed and formed deeper and deeper
Each year
The same as before
Prerequisites falling to the floor
As a child, I broke my bones
Trying to catch those prerequisites
That tested my soul
As a child, I broke my bones
Fitting in the mold of my
Christian circumstance
The mold was not from God
It was from my peers
The families who thought I was too good
To fit any other mold but their own
They squeezed me into their praise of goodness
But it was suffocating and
Dishonest when they praised my suffering and
Failure
Failure wasn’t an option
The mold was too tight, too deep
But I wanted to learn about His forgiveness
How else am I do to that but fault on my own?
Pressed into a mother at the young age of 21
A wife
A woman of the house
I didn’t want the mold
It broke my bones
I didn’t want the mold of the Southwest
I didn’t want a mold at all
I just wanted to love what I did, who I was
And I knew Jesus believed me
But they didn’t
How could they not see
That God still loved me
On the road of mine own
That my mother broke her bones
To create
For me
A life I got to choose despite the mold
That bonded me to the dry, cracking mud
She slammed hard on the dried-up mud
She broke her bones
She cracked the mold
And the pieces went flying
She was still broken
But standing just the same
Hallelujah
She praised
God pieced her together
Jagged and imperfect, she was beautiful
And, now, today
I would gladly break my bones
To break that old, hard mold
And God loves me just the same
As a child, I broke my bones
