It's hard living a life of pure hatred between folks you barely even know or recall.

Why must my
past have so much influence on my present? It's like a shadow that is always there and grows
bigger and more noticeable the more I ignore it. I sit in my room contemplating if I should get up
or not. I wish my life was as simple as a smooth white ceiling- consistent, plain, and knowingly.
Or like my lamp on my stand. It knows its purpose, shining light in the midst of dim or a ghastly
night time. Maybe even like my bed, serving comfort and warmth when all else fails. So what is
my purpose? I have so many attributes that I can't figure out the meaning for. I'm taller than the
average girl, a minority in America, and frizzy hair that can be a joyous pain. What do those
attributes mean? Everything is inconsistent. One day I'm praised for my height, the other I'm
pestered on why I don't play basketball. Another day I feel proud of who I am and where I come
from, the next I wish my life was as simple as the overbearing majority. And don't even get me
started on my hair. Its like I want box braids then become bored of it within a week, if I straighten
it I'm criticized by others for trying to be " white", if I where it as a Afro I'm being too expressive,
and a ponytail is looked down upon as too boring or the average. I don't wanna fit in or just
barely pass by, but I don't want to be an outcast or painted as a social reject. I just want to be
enough. But where do I start? How do I start? Who do I even ask? It's like the route to success
is obviously transparent, but does not come with directions. There is no how to- just do.

My dad believes I have to be better than everyone else. That everyone is competition rather
than friends, even family. I don't know why he tries to live his dreams through me. I have to put
aside what I love, my goals, ambitions, secrets, childhood, memories. I can never look back, it's
always forward, it's always what’s ahead with him and who do we have to go up against.
Welcome to my life as a daughter of two royal families. A lot of people would kill to be where I
am but in reality I’d kill to be where they are. A place where my path isn’t already chosen and
my opinion actually matters. A place where my own desires can be reached without a constant
shadow or backstabbing person near. A place where I can be myself and stop trying to impress
my parents. My mom on the other hand, she’s more hardcore than my dad is! She doesn’t
bother attending or showing appreciation for me, it's a simple “ You better have won” and if I
came with any other answer than yes, I would be looked at as a disappointment. She does her
own thing and expects us to succeed in any and everything we do. Nothing hurts more than
looking into the eyes of the person who’s supposed to be there through thick and thin, and you
being the cause of their frustration or sadness. I don’t even bother looking her in the eyes
anymore. I shouldn’t be the one that has to put in constant effort and get nothing in return. Her
disinterest infuriates me and I guess you could call that consistent. And it's not like I can be
confined to a sibling or loved one. It's only me and my parents in this house. Alone with my own
thoughts and my own states of mind. The only time I'm free from the opinion or direction of
others, is when I’m asleep. Even then I can’t escape the uneasiness of endless possibilities. I
guess this is the part where I introduce myself. I’m Ayana Miller. The name pretty much speaks
for itself. While I’m cooped up in my humble abode I do try to find other things to distract me.
Growing up as a little girl I was always separated from the rest. I would have to sit and watch
the other kids get to play on the playground, swing on the swings, and play tag all while I sat
there in a cold empty room. A room that occurs frequently in my dreams. It's like whenever I
have this dream it comes about twice a year. I have no idea what it means and just the thought
of it makes me uncomfortable. I remember it all too well. First I would wake up in the pink and
white room I had upstairs all the way to the back left corner. I would be sitting in my bed, a bed
that used to be my crib, but since my parents could not afford such luxuries at the time, my dad
disassembled and built the crib into a bed. I would be laying there not able to move in the mind
of a 6-8 yr old. I lay flat in my pink shirt that was so long it practically touched the floor. I look to
my right and I see objects floating in mid air. My white nightstand which I always assumed was
mine even though I never had white furniture before, would stay on the ground including the bed
and the other objects would float steadily. Soon one of the objects, a painting, spins rapidly and
from a distance. I try to make out a figure. It's a tall man whose belly hung out the doorway and
hair was nonexistent. His body was facing the window whilst his head was turned toward me.
Is today the day? The day where I become one with forsaken blood rivalries?