Some may say this is a blog. Some may even say a vlog. Either way, I definitely do not prefer the term diary. Perhaps it could be a summary of my actual diary. In my words, I’ll simply sum it all up and call it a journal. Here’s where this journal came about.

Imagine this. Red, yellow, pink, white, anything popping up? In my head, I’m picturing bright red hearts, some freshly picked daisies, even some innocent white milk being mixed with the delectable taste of strawberry. My cat, Snickers, named after my favorite candy bar, happens to love taking a refreshing sip of milk, minus the strawberry, before cuddling up with me after a fancy girl’s night out with my best friend. When she makes plans, she sticks to them, and does everything to the best of her ability. White we’re out, we watch a romantic comedy. Romance is my favorite. Comedy happens to be her favorite. Coincidence? Perhaps.

Anyhow, this happens to not be the main attraction of my journal. Let me show you how I lived up to the name I was given. Turn to page one. Here’s where it started, in the dead center of Chicago. I must say, even though I now live in a beautiful seaside pacific coast shore house on the other side of the country. But that’s not the point. Chicago was my home. Summer was full of fun; beaches, strolls in Millennium park, concerts under the stars. Just wait. Winter is even better. Every day, I would walk down out of my apartment with my brothers and sisters and we would pass over Michigan Avenue and run right into the annual fun that is ice skating. My heart lies right here. Right along the glistening skyscrapers and within the rippling waves that occupy Chicago.

Now onto the best story. It happens to be the best simply because it’s my fondest memory. What’s better than a memory? Let me set this up for you. Remember the last time you’ve been in a model home? If not, how about a time you were in a well dressed home? Picture this; you stumble into the house, amazed by its beauty. You love every inch of the house. Then, you step into the bathroom. Look on the walls. See those pictures? No, not the one of the little baby laughing in the tub. The ones to your left. Yeah, the ones with the little boy leaving a peck upon that little girl’s face. That’s me. If you were to turn to page six, you’d get a better look.

Fast forward, let’s say, eight to ten years. Pages fourteen through sixteen will give you insight to these very life changing moments. So MySpace used to be the thing right? Well, when I was fourteen, I finally signed up for my first webpage. There I went. I typed my email right into the slot. And along came my password. Ha, you thought I’d tell you that? Okay, so onto the next one. What is the one age every teenager waits for? Some may say eighteen, but we’ll get to that. Right now, I’m talking about sixteen! Every penny I had went to the remaking and remodeling of my baby. My red 2000 grand prix was my dream car. Why? I couldn’t tell you, but for some reason, I was willing to drive every single friend every where they wanted to go just so I wouldn’t have to leave the front seat of that car. It was a dream come true. That may be a little corny, but it works. You know what is even better? The fact that I could upgrade my phone to the new iPhone. The first thing I did was check my horoscope. I love those things, and of course I jumped right to the love section.
Okay so here it goes. The big one-eight. The freedom I needed, the beginning of college, the start of something new. By new, I mean the Thursday nights I will never forget. Remember my BFF mentioned earlier? Well, here’s where she came into part. You’ll see her picture on page eighteen. Every week, we have a girl’s night. We constantly watch The Notebook and A Walk to Remember over and over, searching for clues, hints, hidden messages, reasons why these movies seem so real. I look at Rachel McAdams and Mandy Moore and wonder what they felt when they filmed this. What was going on in their minds? What sense of love, romance, and security do they have, that others in this world may not? My mom took me on a trip the summer of my eighteenth birthday. She said it was a surprise. So I was shocked when I walked off the plane and saw “Rome, Italy” written above my head. There is perhaps no better place than this to describe myself in and out. Detailed architecture seen from high and low. Look out the hotel window; you could see motorists simply strolling along the streets. No worries, no fears. There’s nothing but love in the air. This happened to be the last summer I spent with my mom. Even though she’s gone, she never truly left. Every summer, I travel back to Rome. I experience the joy and care that my mom left me with. She made me grow stronger as a person, live up to my name, fulfill my life. “I love you.” That was the last thing I said to her before she passed away. For that, I will never mourn, but rather look forward into the simplicities of life. I can smile when I lay down to sleep because I know she was watching me during the day, and the things she saw while looking down upon me, made her smile too. She saw a strong sensual girl. Not only was there love in my day, but a strive to succeed, in every little thing.
Page twenty-one. My BFF is still here and we’re finally old enough to drink. New years is coming up. What’s better than going to a Hollywood party with her? She stopped by early, to help me get ready. After two hours of preparation, we step out in our gorgeous evening gowns. Me, I fill in the long red velvet dress. Her, she occupies the smooth yellow silk, almost like Kate Hudson. This night marks the first day of my new family. You guessed it. I met my future husband, my true love, my lifelong partner. There was no better match than him. Sure, I’ve met a ton of guys in my life. I liked, puppy loved, even loved, every single one of them. I even crushed a couple of hearts, but not this one. This one was here to stay. On our wedding night, it smelt of bright red and pink roses. The kind that one gives his girlfriend of a couple months on Valentine’s Day. Simple, but lovely. That was our life from then on out, like it was Valentine’s Day every day of the week. Sunday through Saturday. Every day was our honeymoon. Every day was our anniversary.
Well shoot, my time here is up. Sure, my journal isn’t really only twenty-one pages long. The pages were actually more like chapters. And my journal was more like a book. Every chapter was a new story, a new age. And every page rather, was a new day. Reading my whole journal sure sounded boring, and we’d probably still be on page two. This way, we get to the good stuff. The stuff that made me who I am today. You want an even smaller summary?
This is me.
Born in love.
Raised in joy.
Experienced in happiness.
Friends with devotion.
In love with Affection.
But most of all, built on Passion.