The steps in front of my door were concrete slabs, old and cracked, but I still loved playing there with my dolls. Both my sisters were small enough to fit there with me. This tiny little house was in Whittier, California, my birthplace. Our little home was built in the sixties. It was not the palace that the princesses in the stories my mom read to me lived in, but I was young enough not to notice. Switching schools occurred multiple times and the change came easily; the language barrier not so much. I remember one particular instance, where I was glad that I had switched schools. My so called reading “buddies” would constantly shout at me for messing up while I read. I did not mess up on purpose. My native tongue was Spanish and the transition…show more content… Perris, California was warmer and sadly uniform. This home was my parent’s largest investment. And it would be our first time living alongside another family. After sharing that home for three years, the house payments were not being met, I learned of the word foreclosure, and I moved to another elementary school for the fifth grade. I spent the beginning of the school year unable to make friends, but the school’s music program pushed me to open up. I picked up the clarinet and my fingers melted into the metal keys. This was my first exposure to musical instruments. I would practice at home and through the year became proud of what I could do. But I would have to let my love for the arts…show more content… My thoughts lingered on the idea of once again playing the clarinet but color guard swiftly stole my attention. The commitment was alarming, but I ignored my gut instinct.
To my surprise, I mastered the dancing, flag work, and rifle sequence. I twirled in the compliments of my instructors while simultaneously, picking up on the negative qualities of the people around me. Unconsciously, I had opened doors that led me to become prideful, narcissistic, and vain. Without a fight, I let my friend go persecuted for her beliefs. I let egotistical thoughts rule me in school. Drifting like an untied sail, I had been swept by the currents. I had not seen that my focus had shifted from God to the approval of corrupt influences.
Soon enough, I would listen to my gut instinct. I remembered reading in a health textbook how to perform a breast self-exam. I pressed my fingers onto my flesh and found the one inch by one inch lump that would be diagnosed, after three devastating months, as a benign