19 April 2012

But I'm a Grown Up Now

To quote the great pre-drugged out D'Angelo, "Shit, damn, mother fucker." Lol. Being an adult is great. One of the best things I've come to realize is that growing up is so liberating.

When I was younger, I actually feared disappointing people. I played by all of the rules. I went to church when told, did homework on Friday nights, obeyed curfew, received good grades, was Student of the Month every month, was on the Principal's Honor Roll every month, etc. I did this to make my parents proud of me. I'm an only child with parents who have probably only taken a few college classes after high school before joining the work force. I was their pride and joy.

In high school, I started feeling myself a little too much. I had mastered the whole not study, but ace the test thing so my parents thought I was a pretty spiffy kid. My freedoms were extended, but sadly I took advantage. I started drinking a lot (freshman year up to junior year [age 12-14]), sneaking out of the house and experimenting with rebellious things with people my parents hated. Once my hidden activities began coming to light (due to my own carelessness and arrogance), I disappointed my family. By the middle of my junior year in high school, I think my mom hated seeing my face. To this day, there are almost NO pictures of me from junior to senior year in my mom's house. (As an almost unwritten rule, my family does not discuss those years except to acknowledge the year I graduated high school 2006).

I decided to start fresh in college. Though I wasn't exactly a cookie-cutter citizen, I started almost from scratch—back to my 4.0 GPA, only really leaving campus for church and almost zero partying in-between, with a few exceptions here and there. Once I graduated college, I was like Ariel with her new legs. I was free, but didn't know how to use my new freedom. When I started PBK, it was just an experiment, but I refused to tell my family about it. I feared how my mom would react to me dropping “fuck,” “shit,” “damn,” “bitch” in almost every post? And God-forbid, she find out that I haven't been a virgin in God knows how long. And that's just my poetry. Imagine her reading other posts regarding porn, feminism, masturbation and my moonlighting as a dominatrix in my spare time. Lol.

Up until Valentine's Day, my mom had NO idea what PBK was. I intended to keep it that way until she found my business card in my car. Once she asked, Pandora's Box had been opened. Nervous as shit, I told her. I'm almost 22, with 2 degrees, my own apartment and 4 jobs, but was deathly afraid that my mom would scream at me for writing random shit on a website. Like a nerd who just discovered another planet that contained life, I proudly took her on a virtual tour of PBK. She blinked at it as if I just told her that my cat likes to sleep. She was almost completely unmoved. Though I doubt she'll actually read many of my posts, at least she knows it exists and knows it's here for her to read.  

In addition to her knowing, my family also knows, which has definitely brought us closer. My aunt reads PBK and shares it with her girl friends, who now like to engage me in more interesting “grown-up” topics. Now, I can live happily ever after. Lol.  

The End,
♥P.

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