I have been captivated by many books in my nineteen years of life, and there are a few that still to this day influence me and my behavior. To get to the point, I would have everyone in the world read “Girl In Pieces” which was created by the talented author Kathleen Glasgow. Why might you wonder… or not? It doesn't matter because after I am done you will be dashing to the bookstore to get your hands on this masterpiece. Glasgow has written a fictional novel overall, but a reality to many, about Charlie; a seventeen eventually turned eighteen girl, who has self-harmed in more ways than one and struggles to grasp ‘living over existing’. Without spoiling the story, it is about ‘pushing through the mud no matter how many times weeds tie you down’. I do not find joy in talking about how depressed I was and how much ‘dark thinking’ I took part in, but “Girl In Pieces” ate down and became the doorway for me to keep motion. Reading a book telling you that you are not alone by telling you the deep sorrows of a mentally and emotionally lost young person can really comfort the you that is lost as well. Now it took time for me to actually READ the book because I began reading it with jealousy. Jealousy of my middle school best friend that caused friction in the understanding of the story. After some time passed, I picked up the book again and finally read through the lenses of unbiased eyes. I read the book from the location of vulnerability and that opened a whole new highway of possibilities of life advice through Charlie’s life. I highly recommend the novel. Learning is not a single organism and sometimes learning is not fun and sometimes life is not fun, but reading can help escape the misery of breathing to barely survive. The book helped me breathe to enjoy life as myself. As the ending said, always be angelic and that is what I aim to be every day, even the ‘gray’ days. Thank you for your time, I truly hope whoever reads this will check out the book and make sure to read the book as you are but with a clear understanding of giving the book a chance.

During late August and early September, my mother was hospitalized due to what she settled as a stroke because she was not claiming MS, and because I was forced to grow up due to my mother’s surprise medical scare and later analyzing my performance of being temporary independent, I realized that with me keeping things together from my home life, my high school education, and my mental state, all while my dear mother was away at the hospital, there is actual strength within me to push through life on my own. I always knew that sooner or later I would have to be an “adult”, but to be vulnerable, the thought of being ‘grown’ has never touched my brain; I have never seen myself at the age I am now. It feels as though God wrote my mother having a stroke when she did in the “Great Plan” for us and even though what mainly helped me not to give up was thinking of the ‘me’ that could exist two weeks from then and to give that version of me a chance, I can now understand the phrase, “it is a mindset thing”. What is more, is the fact that I could actually return a fraction of the energy my mother put into me and our relationship in our shared lifetime, and so on the positive side at least I know that I can make it in this world by myself. Evolving means more than just maturing; I suppose that I did not get more mature from who I was, just that I feel within my stride, from within my behavior, that I have more tenacity to be independent. In short, I grew up more those twelve days my mother was laid up in the hospital, than my eighteen years of life; I held the house down on my own. One of the five times I had visited my mother I asked for the link card; thank God I had my link when I was sixteen seeing how because of that I knew how it feels to personally go to a grocery store and purchase your food, also the fact my mother trusts me with her card all piled in to helping and coming through for me. On Labor day, I had to get myself together and push through with this cold I got somehow, probably from being out until eleven at night due to leaving the hospital late on my birthday, and to go food shopping on the bus with a cart all by myself. Since I was around ten years old, my dear mother influenced me to budget thoroughly just like her, and I was able to figure out where to take the money from my savings so I can buy cleaning and kitchen supplies; I had to do it, not for her but for me, for our home. With that in mind, to even keep a home the bills need to be paid and paid on time, on my eighteenth birthday, before I was finally legally able to go visit my mother, I went to the currency exchange and got a money order to pay the rent for September, and the day before I met up with my father to give him my mother’s portion of our joint phone bill’s payment after school. Shortly after I met up with my father after school around my home to gather the information needed so I can go get my identification card put in for processing; I paid the twenty dollars it costs out of my pocket.

Lonely, I am lonely and being creative has saved my life from myself and intrusive thoughts. Even within a crowded room my heart is frozen from isolation and that does not initially bother me, but that makes the trip rocky. The most important piece of art that is most meaningful and important to me is my bedroom door, my novel, and my comic. Each piece is a part of my existence and a metaphor for my being. I broke my door into three sections, so each part of the thoughts and voices in my head can be seen instead of being heard through words. The middle part, the biggest part, is very wishy-washy because it is the “Nyla” part of me; which is very childish and immature because growing up I felt that I needed to clone myself to be the person I so desperately wanted to be friends with. The bottom is the most colorful, brightest part and is the “Anime” part of me; my mother said since I am not my father, instead of my government last name, in street nickname terms, that is my ‘last name’ because that is a huge part of my identity. The top is the darkest part and is my “JA” identity because overall I am usually chill or to others, I seem down because I am not that bubbly ‘me’ people assume I am since that’s how I chose to mask myself. As far as my novel is like my first child since I incorporate all the different mediums of myself within the plot. Even the title of it, “The World Behind the Mirror'', is a symbol of what my language can not convey. Meaning, it's just shining a light on the reflection I hide inadvertently. It is about a fifteen-year-old freshman in high schooler solving the mystery of why her family upped and moved from New York to a small town in the middle of nowhere and learning what a dusty, old mirror has to do with her half-brother’s mental health. I consider my novel art because I am expressing myself through the characters and their life. The same thing goes for my comic, “Landscape”, which is also free on Tapas. Landscape is a story based on family drama, toxic relationships between two guys, and a small town’s conspiracy on mysterious disappearances. Hoping to solve his mother’s murder, Milo seeks justice by uncovering the church’s farce of a religion. Since Alex lied to her “son”, Milo manifests in the dark alongside Onni. Amos doesn’t know Milo’s feelings towards him, yet he unconsciously feeds into Milo’s fantasy. Will Milo uncover the truth before he too gets got, or will the lies stay under the rug?

I will not paint a pretty picture; I learned to read when I was five years old and even at eighteen I still have trouble with properly communicating and getting my point across swiftly. Even with all that, I acquired the wisdom of the importance of literature. Writing gives me room to express myself through written imagination and being a young black lady the lenses aren’t always clear. One thing I can never forget about why I love writing is the fact that I can always come back to it. There are times when I forget mid-speaking what I am saying to the person I am sharing my energy and time with, but when I am writing, hand or typing, I can go back to that moment in which spirits I was working and revisit my work. A sample of my work: Title “Slowly Falling” Have you ever worn a cover? You know, something to mask the story behind the character. I have, I have been a mask itself. I question myself. What if I am not myself? What if this question is an answer to someone who is in another world? “Monica, come on!” Yelled my brother, Jason. I shout that I am on my way and then close my laptop. Oh? You thought I was talking about myself, haha jokes on you. I feel nothing for myself, so I write for imagery people. I grab my phone off the charger and run down the stairs…. Those dark beings with even darker cloaks of the night. They tell me things. They tell me how I am so small. My accomplishments are so small, they mean nothing. I AM NOTHING! My existence hurts those around me. I have no one around me, I AM ALONE! I am as useless as a doctor healing the dead. Even the trees tell me I am just a dog chasing after nothing, but its tail. I am so afraid of being left behind. I know my friends will leave me behind one of these days. Going to unwanted places is what I am good at, but I no longer want that. Those dark beings and dark thoughts label me with monstrous names like it's a satisfaction. They love putting me down, and I can’t stop them. I can’t understand how I look down on my mom when I let myself put me down, hurt me, and destroy me. Ugh, I hate this. I hate falling, slowly falling. Slowly returning to my original state. I-I-I need to… to. I can’t feel anymore. It’s getting cramped and darker in here. Where is my here? “Monica!” Miles shouts. I look up at him and he pulls me to the side, away from the gang. “What did I say about doubting yourself?” He asks me in an angry tone. “I-I…. It was nothing.” I replied. “Stop that. Those thoughts don't get you far. They will slowly deteriorate your spirit.” He told me. He gives me a hug and whispers in my ear, “I told you I am here for you. Whether you want me to leave or stay, I am in your corner to give you support. You’re one of my closest friends, I love you. Please don’t give up or give in.” I close my eyes and a tear rolls down my cheek. I whisper back thank you and we catch up with the gang. Today will be the day I deserve. The End

As a small child I have always been captivated by cartoons and anime. I am greatly passionate about being a storyteller. My novel is on Tapas, as well as my comic. Eventually I want to tap into having my own podcast and I want to produce/own a cartoon by the time I am thirty-two. A few passions I have are gardening, arts and crafts, and writing. I want to be a part of the cartoon/anime itself by bringing life to a character by voicing them. I have been in Drama one and two during my time in high school. I know about acting and the tactics of not just getting into character, but becoming that entity in general. I don’t normally share this with people other than my mother, but my dreams drive me. ‘Dreams’ as in when I go to sleep and travel into my surreal unconsciousness. The creativity and science fiction vibe of my dreams gives me the fuel to leave a legacy of stories. A taste of my work would be a dream I wrote down. “The grass was cool and damped due to the previous night shower. I just escaped to the woods out of breath and low on water; the darkness is a fast mother, I looked ahead of me and I noticed a giant mushroom-like house up in front of me. The moon was shining so bright and seemed to be the size of five elephants. As I am running, I see a bunch of stepped on sunflowers. Someone must’ve come this way too, I thought. I was already at the mushroom house. It was red with white dots and had a brown door with two medium size windows. The blinds were open, so you could see the kitchen from six feet away. Strangely enough I blinked then I was in the living room of the creepy home. I somehow had a cooking knife in my right hand and there was a stone cold body lying face flat on the floor. The windows burst open due to heavy winds and you could hear thunder. These strange monsters walked in. The lightning struck the power pole so the lights just would not come on. The monsters see me and start yelling in their native language. I looked to my upper right and saw a dark shadow in a witches’ cloaked hood. One of the monsters sprinted towards me and stood there with my knees shaking. Right when I need a weapon, the knife leaves my hand and somehow ends up in the back of the body that’s on the floor. The second monster just kept on shouting while the first one was attacking poor ole me. I then shout, “Stop! Leave me alone, I did nothing wrong.” I rush over to the open windows and try to jump out. The second monster almost grabbed me. I cut my leg on the broken pieces of glass that were sticking out of the window. I fell on the grass. It's raining now and the monsters are streaking in anger. I was so paralyzed with fear that I just lied there on the wet grass. Seconds went by until I was able to come to reality again. By that time the monsters walked out the front door and slowly crept up towards me. I scoot back away from where I fell then I slowly stood up. I was in pain from the injury. Scared that I was going to lose too much blood in front of the dangerous creatures, I tried to run as fast as I could.”