All About G

So I bet you’re wondering what this is all about. Well, for Personal Essay, we have to write papers about, well, ourselves. In our style, by the end of this class, we have to write a paper; “Who am I?” And it’s more than just “19 year old bi-racial female,” if you couldn’t tell :3 In any event, I decided to take the papers I write in the class and put them up here. This is my first assignment in the class (turned it in today). A one page auto-biography (it wasn’t exactly one page, ahaha). Enjoy:

Well, where do I start, besides the painfully obvious? The name’s Regina Ann Baker, better known as Gina, G, Shorty, G Bakes, and several hundred other nicknames that I can’t remember and don’t feel like listing anyway. Born in the Methodist Hospital in Brooklyn, NY, 10:02am, November 21st, 1989. Weighed in at 7 lbs 12 oz., 21 cm long (because that actually matters in life for some stupid reason). I’m an arrogant, confident, bitchy nice girl with no self-esteem whatsoever. A procrastinating perfectionist (ironically; I’m a woman of many contradictions), and I’m surprised I haven’t given myself a stroke because it’s really that bad. I have a tendency to over-think things and I’m too serious for my health. I’m not all bad parts, I suppose. I have quite the sense of humor, and while I’ve never been tested for it, I’ve been told that I might be gifted in a few of the seven (or is it eight now?) intelligences. Plus I’m ridiculously musical and a sports freak; how much better can you get?

One of the biggest contributors to my new-found confidence and just a healthier self-image was going to college. And I don’t even know what it was about it that matured me. Perhaps it was having to take care of myself, more or less with out the help of my mom or dad; maybe it was the fact that after I started going to college, the relationship between my Dad and I started to deteriorate more. Maybe it was the realization that I really wasn’t such a loser, that I was just as smart and capable as the next guy, some times more so, and that I was competent enough to lead an independent life. Starting my third year here, I think I can safely say that I’m glad I managed to get myself here, even though I have the extra year here and then basically the rest of my life in med school. Hopefully in the end it will all be worth it.

Comments (1) Sep 01 2009

It’s afternoon in November, but you’re sure that the chill is usually more forgiving this time of the year. Not that it matters; it reflects your current mood perfectly. At this point, you don’t even bother trying to keep your hood up anymore, knowing the wind will blow it back down in some sick form of mockery as it laughs at your misfortunes.

You jam your key into the lock to the door of your apartment, and struggle with jiggling the key just right while cursing the whole time. Finally, you open the door—the wind aids in this action and proceeds to slam it into the wall, though you don’t care. Storming into the house, you turn and slam the door behind you, reflecting just what you thought about absolutely everything, and screw them for not understanding anyway! You kick off your shoes, barely registering the thump as they smash into the wall. The only regret you had was not being able to kick them at his head.

At this point you realize that none of your roommates are home. It was probably better that way. Nobody would be around to ask you questions. You stomp into the living room and fling yourself onto the couch, grabbing the remote so you could drown your thoughts in the TV. Humming, jumbled words block out everything else and turn your thoughts into one loud buzz. Except for the ones you don’t want to hear, of course.

He used you… he never cared about you…

You snarl, switch off the TV and jump to your feet before stalking into the kitchen. You throw open the cabinets, rummaging through boxes and cans before you grab a hold of a can of diced pineapples. You slam them on the counter top, and after having problems with the can opener, manage to open it. Unceremoniously, you grab a dish from the sink, dirty most likely, and dump the contents of the can into the bowl. The fruit makes a slushy noise before settling into place. You grab a fork from the same place and plop down at the table, shoveling a forkful of the fruit into your mouth. Immediately, you grimace. The pineapples taste sour and foreign in your mouth. You force yourself to swallow it and throw away the rest. It figures that even the fruit is against you. Sour and deceiving your expectations in the end, just like he was.

You throw open the freezer, the frigid air blasting you in the face. You scoff, and almost laugh outright. That’s what it felt like when you saw him just an hour earlier. It felt as it Reality shoved its fist down your throat. You come across a box of ice cream. Cookie Dough. It’s his favorite flavor, a trait that the two of you share.

Without hesitation you quickly throw it across the room. Oh well; you’ve always liked chocolate better anyway. There’s a crashing sound as it lands in the sink. Most likely, you broke several dishes.

“Like I could give a shit less!” you shriek to no one in particular.

You finally storm into your room and nearly rip the curtains off closing them. The room darkens nicely, giving you a sense of security, as if you’re shielded from the outside world. You throw yourself on your bed and shove your face into your pillow, wanting to suffocate. Instead, you inhale his scent, which lingers from when he spent the night the other day. It makes you want to throw up.

“Fuck you!” you scream as you throw the offending pillow at the wall. It slides to the floor looking pathetic as it sits in its poofy lump, seemingly staring at you pitifully. You don’t need its sympathy. You don’t need anyone’s sympathy.

“Shut the fuck up!” you continue before throwing yourself back down.

You burrow underneath your covers, feeling cold even after that heated outburst. Why did he go and do that to you? What did you ever do to him, anyway? He knew you loved him, but he took that and shoved it right back in your face. You hate him. Or, that’s what you wish you could say, but at this point in time, it would only be a big lie.

Almost instinctively, you glance toward the window. It’s open, so you can smell the air as it wafts into your room. It’s crisp and clean; most likely, it’s going to rain. You pull yourself out of bed and trudge over to your window, where you slowly, almost cautiously, pull open the curtain.

Unfortunately, you have a perfect view of the street, where the two of your drew a big heart with your initials in chalk for all to see. It makes you sick to your stomach, and you’re all ready to draw the curtains shut again, but then you hesitate.

And then it starts to rain.

Not immediately, but subtly. Drops of water, one by one, fall and hit the ground, growing in numbers. Soon, it’s a downpour. And the only thing you can do is stare at the chalk drawing as it begins to fade. White-colored water flows down the street to the nearby drain where it falls into the sewer, never to be seen or heard from again. Washing away painful memories, almost.

A small smile graces your features, and you turn and leave your room. Without even stopping to put your shoes on, you throw the door open. All is silent, except for the rainfall. You step out, walking on to the sidewalk, and then into the street. The water is freezing, but you don’t really care and you spread your arms and tilt your head towards the sky, closing your eyes. The feeling is exhilaration.

All is silent on your street, except for the rainfall and your laughter as you spin and dance in the rain.

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I was bored. It sucks, I know, but the idea didn’t leave me alone, so I figured I’d share it with the rest of you. I’m going to say that it was ridiculously awkward writing in present tense, 2nd person POV… but oh well.

Comments (2) Sep 13 2008