The Little Girl Who Just Likes Colors

Sometimes I go long months without writing, and sometimes I have to write every day that week. It depends on hundreds of things: the time, do I have time to write, is there something I need to say, etc. etc. So why am I writing now?
Well because now I’m sitting in the room I grew up in, except it looks nothing like the room I grew up in. No my parents didn’t decide change my room the minute I left for college, in reality this room had been changed years before that. The room began to change when I changed. This room tucked away in the back corner of my house, has seen so much change in the past 13 years. It started off as a home to a little six-year-old who was upset to leave her old room-the one with pink and purple walls-and who had to live in a new room-one with plain white walls. The six-year-old who had to decide how her new room would look, and was overwhelmed with the possibilities. It was a room to a wild, curious, happy little girl who didn’t let the world define her. She was her own person and she hadn’t seen the world yet, so she was free.
But through the years as the little girl grew up, so did the room it went from a butterfly garden, to a dark blue and brown theme room to a mature and sophisticated white everything room; and with the changes so did how the girl saw herself she saw herself not through the long mirror in the room but rather through eyes of a judgmental world.The room changed as the girl changed, but one thing never did change. The fan. The fan from the butterfly garden theme room. The fan was turned on in all the phases. Even when the girl reached high school and switched to a larger room. The fan thrived when the room became her dad’s office, the fan thrived when the room became a guest room, and then a dumping ground, and the fan still spins as I sit and type this on the floor almost thirteen years later. The fan never changed even though I did, I am. I am changing all the time, but for some reason no one has ever looked up at the fan and said it doesn’t “fit” the room, even now when everything else in dark brown and the carpets been traded for wood floor. The fan somehow fits in this room. It’s a reminder that through all the changes I go through. No matter if I fail or if I succeed. The fan is a symbol for whoever I become in the future, and whatever I do; that no matter what the six-year-old wide girl who loves butterflies and flowers is still her, and she still loves to watch the colors go around and around.









So dear reader,
            Remember that as we grow up and begin to see this dark and scary world. Remember that as much as we change and we go out of our comfort zones, no matter what happens in this world and no matter what happens to us there’s always that little kid inside us to remind us of who we really are. They're there you may just have to look for them. 


Don’t forget to smile y’all! (:

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