Here we go. My first ever blogging challenge, #Blogtember, created by the lovely Jenni @ Story of My Life. I've always thought I want to do one of those as I watched countless Makeup Mayhem and Vlogmas videos on YouTube. And now that I have so much time on my hands, I can.
Today's topic: Describe where or what you come from. The people, the places, and/or the factors that make up who you are.
The first thing that popped into my head was the city, an idea fueled by my continuous love affair with NYC. But that'd be too easy, at least for me it would be a "cop out" of sorts. I could mention my love of writing and creating a world I preferred to live it at the age of six, the years of gymnastics training that I am convinced saved my life, or the four years away at university that allowed me to "find myself" which for the record turned out to be the same person I had always been. But there will be other, dare I say more relevant, times to discuss all of that. Of course, I technically come from my family, you know my parents and other distant relatives. But then again, don't we all come from our families (at least in the general sense of it)? And, I mean,
I could talk ad nauseam about my dear father who challenges me every single day to be a better person than I was just moments ago. Or my mom, who rarely nags or asks a million questions but always knows what question to ask when I need her most. But I'd rather talk about something specific, a certain factor that makes up who I am.
I was raised on truth. That isn't to say I've never told a lie. I have. Probably more than the share of lies allotted to one during her lifetime. But where I come from, the people I come from - they've always taught me to tell the truth. And that's the important part. That's always kept me safe. From myself. See, no matter what I've told anyone else - that they didn't hurt my feelings when they actually crushed me, that I went for a run instead of sitting on the couch watching reruns of America's Next Top Model, that I was but a city block away from our lunch date when I in fact wasn't even dressed yet - I've never lied to myself. In fact, I don't think I can. It's almost as if my father spoon fed me truth out of a baby food jar and so it's become such a part of me, of who I am, that my body rejects anything else I try to convince myself of. "Try hard not to lie and have clear being there," my father would say to me since I can remember. So I'd scrawl into my diary about just how hurt I was, vow silently to myself to workout tomorrow instead of watching hungry models bitch at each other, mentally curse myself out for running so behind schedule and setting an early lunch when I know I'm a late riser. Lying to myself, one of the easiest and most self-destructive things to do, was something I simply never could do.
See, everybody lies; whether they are bomb-dropping, life-changing lies or small, white, "your-butt-doesn't-look-fat-in-that" lies, everybody tells them. It's when you've convinced yourself of your own lies that you're in trouble. And where I come from, more aptly what I was raised on, it keeps me out of trouble, it even keeps me honest. Because if I know the truth, but I tell a story, well then I'm a fraud and I don't like the way that feels so I try hard to avoid it. It's funny, huh? The way some things come back full circle.
Thanks for reading! Are you participating in #Blogtember? If so, let me know in the comments below so I can follow along. If not, where do you come from, what makes you, well, you?