I have decided recently that I wanted to write a memoir. I dunno, I think I'm somewhat narcissistic or something. I've chosen my Gaia journal to be the place I stick it, since it's the most active journal I've ever kept in my whole life. Sure, this means it's accessible by the public, but it's a memoir so I don't give a ********. Primarily this is a means of which I can look back on my own thoughts and translate some of my life into words, but if other people are interested that's cool too.

I may update this one section steadily, write it all in one go, or update separately. I dunno yet, I'm making this up as I go along. I maaaayy update it in the far future as well, to encompass what will happen, as naturally this will only date up to my current age of nineteen. Now without further ado, let me begin--

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I was born on the date of September 24th 1990 in a mediocre hospital that was probably the shining glory of my small city back then. I still live where I was born, but I think the city's excitement and growth has disappointingly only dwindled since then. The most prominent things about this city are the waterfront with a sprinkling of carousels which are only interesting the first time you ride them but have beautiful craftsmanship, the college and university crammed close together somewhere near the outskirts of the urbanized section of the city, and the hospital which will soon be discounted in favour of the newer, bigger hospital they're building. The carousels are a relatively new thing--I'd say they were built when I was around twelve.

Naturally I can't personally recount most of my very young years, but I'm told I was a wild child. Incredibly active and curious, wanton to disobey anyone who hindered my will, spoiled absolutely rotten, and tougher then titanium nails. I do remember still retaining some of these qualities into my little-girl-dom, and they did not begin to fade until I was nearing my teens. If asked to recount my earliest memory, I cannot say for certain, but it may be one of the only I still have from when I lived in the top apartment of a blue house near main street with my parents. My brother did not yet exist. I was peering over the balcony as a troop of uniformed soldiers--dressed like the English--passed underneath me, while music blared from the live band that tailed them and the floats that drifted lazily on by. A full-fledged parade sweeping under my balcony. It's no wonder I remember it; that sort of thing doesn't just happen to anybody. It might of been a Thanksgiving one. We certainly don't have those anymore.

There are three houses I've lived in until this point. The first I do not remember, as I was only a baby, an apartment above a plaza of stores which my parents had borne me into. After they were evicted since my father set off some fireworks during a celebration off a balcony, we moved into the blue house mentioned in the prior paragraph. I know that we stayed there until I was roughly four, and then we moved once again into the house which I reside in today. It was newly built with my father's assistance, accommodated to our family and ready to welcome my baby brother into the world. My parents had asked me if I had wanted a sibling, and as every young child who wanted a sibling would, I said yes. I must admit, however, I wanted a little sister, and when my new brother finally arrived home, in my spoiled brat fashion I demanded they bring him back and get me a sister instead. Obviously that didn't happen!

My brother was born on the date of February 10th 1994. Growing up together, we were incredibly close. He had an unabashed admiration for me as children and strove to copy everything and anything that I did. I was the leader everywhere I went back then, loudmouthed and eccentric. These days, he's a teenager with a foul attitude who doesn't speak to me except to call me names or demand for favours. Sometimes, though, I am just a tad envious of him. He was blessed with all the good genes of our family; naturally tanned skin, curly brown hair, dark roots, and perfectly fine teeth. He is also very well liked publicly--except in the cases of my own friends, who know his worst side--something that I especially never had, but that's to be delved more into later. I often wish I had the shy, good kid who wanted to impress his sister back. He doesn't have much respect or caring for anyone in our family, treating us as nuisances, and he often yells and needlessly spews profanities over the slightest provocation. He always was a sore loser, though, and these are usually spurned by video games. I'm hoping that it is a teenage phase, as we all go through one, and that he will go back to being a decent person soon.

When I moved to the present house at the age of four, I made what I'll call my very first best friend. As it was a very long time ago, I cannot remember her in detail, but I recall her being slightly vain though she was a very good friend to me. We were almost always together. Back then, I had very normal interests, so we had plenty to share. When I became old enough to go to school, I wanted to go to hers, but my parents enrolled me in a Catholic school. This school was indisputably the worst I've ever been in--the very worst my city even has to offer, and I'll wager huge on that. Though I tried my best to fit in there and was kindly to everyone, children are nasty little snippets who will take advantage of anyone who isn't pretty or smart enough to be well liked. I was always pretty academically smart, and back then I loved school for what it taught me, as I always already eager to learn something new, but even then my grades were only high-average at best. Not the best-looking child nor the top of the tier in grades, and always trying to make friends with the people that were, I was prime fodder for kids to pick on. There were two girls in particular I remember, who I naively thought were my friends. Looking back on it, they were always blatantly degrading me to my face and tried to ditch me at every opportunity. It took me a long time to understand they weren't my friends. I don't remember which incident finally sealed it.

The teacher I had for the majority of my time at that hell-hole of a school severely disliked me. I wasn't a bad student. so I can only assume it was because I was a bad kid. As explained earlier, I did whatever I pleased, regardless of the rules. For an example, there was a rule in place set to divide the grades from one another, but I passed the boundaries anyways. Back then, I was incredibly healthy and strong, a whirlwind of a runner. There weren't many that could catch a small, nimble thing like I was. There was always fighting on the schoolground and the teachers couldn't give less a s**t, knife-fights right out in the open, stealing and teasing, but I avoided most of that because I was fast enough and had an older cousin on the playground who could protect me if worst-came-to-worst. There was one instance, however, where I was determined to climb a snow hill which was occupied by three or four fifth grader boys. They insisted I wasn't allowed up there, but I was stubborn. In retaliation, they pushed me down every time, but it wasn't until the third time or so that one finally stepped on my back in an effort to break it. Humans aren't meant to remember pain for that long of a time, but I think it was probably very painful. The idea of a group of boys doing that without shame to a little girl disgusts me utterly, which is probably why I still have that memory. It is one of the very few I have from that place. I ran to the teacher to tattle on them, but I was told to simply get back into line. That's the kind of place that it was. For a long time, I never told my parents that happened--I never discussed things like that with them, none of the bullying. I couldn't understand that it was wrong when I was that young and it was all I had been exposed to.

I was willing to invest appropriate time into creativity when I was a child. I'd make picture books from scratch and share them with my class. They were always liked, but they never made me popular. I entertained ideas of putting them into the library, though you'd laugh if you saw them. The teacher lied to me and said she would see about it, likely to get me not to pester her, though when she never followed up the demand I put on her was greater then if she had just been honest in the first place. Around the time I first started doing this was when Pokemon was just beginning to become popular.

It was not until the principal began pressuring my parents to put me on Ritalin did they transfer me out of that school. Back then they tried to push Ritalin on almost every kid. After that, I went to the very best school I had ever gotten to go to, a place I still cherish in my heart and still have many friends from today. It was also the school that my first best friend went to, but by then we weren't friends anymore.

The reason for this was a deep betrayal that--and not to sound dramatic--still leaves a scar on me, all these years later. This is because this was the seed-like beginning of what helped shape my understanding of people. It all started with the arrival of a next-door neighbour, a young girl who I hit it off with immediately. She was only to stay for a little while, but she'd return, and when she did she wanted to be best friends with me. To make it official, she offered me a dollar bill from where she'd come from, America.

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I'm cutting this off for now, since I have to go. I'll continue this another time.