Childhood
Death Around Every Corner
I feel like I always knew what death was. My parents never had to have a scary, sad conversation with me as to what exactly happens when you die. I think this was partially because my parents knew so many dead people. I would point to a picture and ask who it was. They would tell me who and they they were dead. They were gone forever and I would never see them. That was fine. I was far to young to wish I had met them. I was also too young to feel sad about it, so that didn't really matter. I knew what death was. That's all. Except, that wasn't all. Now I knew I would die, and I have never had a day go by where I don't think about it.
By Kristina Silva5 years ago in Confessions
My Passion, My Voice, My Path To Inner Peace
Back, way back, when I was a wee lad, I dared to dream of being an artist. Yes, it's a big dream. Imagine having art collected around the world. That's a tall order. I tell you what, though, I'm sure glad little me wasn't afraid to dream big. Fast forward to today and you'll find I did become an artist with work collected around the world. It's an amazing life I lead. But, alas, it's not all fairytales and gumdrops.
By Carl Parker5 years ago in Confessions
How I Discovered ASMR
When I was younger, I would sleep with my parents and occasionally ask my mom to tell me a story. These stories were adventure stories that combined my love of animals and my dream of exploring with something to calm me down. They involved me as a grown-up adventurer, Indiana Jones-style, exploring the world searching for the most unique animals on the planet. This adventurer would travel the African landscapes, the North American deserts, and the South American rainforests looking for the most beautiful creatures on the planet. Sometimes, I would even chime in my own personal ideas as to where the story could go. I honestly don't remember a whole ton from many of these stories, but there's one element that I do remember that stuck with me forever.
By Jamie Lammers5 years ago in Confessions
My Crooked Story
Disclaimer: The following story includes triggers such as hospital anxiety, malpractice, and acts of violence. This story is intended to inform and not discriminate against hospital staff. Just a family passed down story of my childhood that I think is a bit too ridiculous not to share.
By Crystal L.5 years ago in Confessions
The T-Rex Buried in Your Backyard
When you’re a kid, you hear that you’re going to be an adult someday. But you don’t know it, not really. Because when you’re a kid, time stands still. Do you remember how long the space between Christmases used to be? That’s because time works differently for kids. They live in their own little eternity.
By Conor McCammon5 years ago in Confessions
The Misfortune of the Twelve Maidens
We all know that when we were kids, we had some stories that we used to sing and to use when playing the rubber band game or jump rope. But we never thought about the lyrics when singing them. Most of them are so dark and deep that I don’t even know how come didn’t notice what we were saying. Worst! We even find them funny because of the dark and disturbing parts! Oh, that’s called innocence. We did know the words; therefore, we did know what they meant. But did we ever take the time to reflect on those disturbing actions?
By Sofia Duarte5 years ago in Confessions
Hobble Gobble Gumpling Land
‘Hobble Gobble Gumpling Land. You can go there if you are lucky enough to have been chosen by the fairies – but, only if you are one of the best kids in existence. You see, only one girl and one boy get to go each year and they are selected because they are smart, courageous and strong.’ I pause, relishing the look of delight on the faces of my third-grade students as I retell the story my dad created.
By Jay Bird5 years ago in Confessions
social shocks in social shocks
Picture an eight-year-old African boy who didn't know how fortunate he was. We had a mud hut in the countryside, a house in the city and my father's university gave him the use of a wonderful house by Mombasa beach. I still remember walking up and down these marble steps onto a veranda. On the left, there were a set of glass doors which you'd walk through and then down a few steps into the living room. I spent very little time in that living room. The kitchen was opposite (open plan fashion) and I spent very little time in there too. There were bedrooms upstairs I reluctantly slept in because my real home was outside.
By Cellestine Aggrey5 years ago in Confessions
I Slept Through A Murder in My Childhood Home
A couple of nights ago, while trying to fall asleep at 2 AM, my mind wandered. Coffee at 9 PM was a bad idea. My thoughts shifted and twisted, running through situations that I thought had been all but buried deep within my psyche. Do you remember when you farted loudly at the library, and that cute guy and his friends turned around and stared at you? Yes, I remember. Or when you were giving your valedictorian speech in primary school and almost threw up on the podium? I’ll never forget.
By Laquesha Bailey5 years ago in Confessions
The Fir Tree, Revisited
I don’t have too many memories of my paternal grandfather. He wasn’t around as often as my other grandparents were and I didn’t know much about him until after he passed in 2002. However, there are two things about Grandpa that remain forever vivid in my mind.
By Palmarosa5 years ago in Confessions
