This isn’t exactly a life story, but it is a story that changed my life. 
I am a black young woman living in a very racially tense city. Some parts are less racist than others, but it is still prominent. When I was 8 my parents took me to the ice skating rink in the downtown district of the city on New Year’s Eve. It was really crowded and stuff and I got a little separated from parents on the ice. They weren’t far behind, but I was still on my own. I wasn’t a good skater or anything and I felt myself lose my balance and fall onto the ice.
Then I felt hands grab my arm. At first I thought it was one of my parents, but when I looked up I saw a young woman, she looked college aged, with a big, kind smile on her face. I just stared at her in shock.
She was white.
I remember her vividly. She had wavy brown hair and wore a red coat and hat. I remember thinking how pretty she was. I had been taught since birth to distrust white people and I never thought one that didn’t know me would ever be nice to me.
In the kindest, most soothing voice she asked me if I was okay and I just nodded at her. A man, very tall and slender man, also white, skated up behind and had a goofy, but still kind, smile on his face. He grabbed my other arm to help me up. He joked and talked about how crummy the ice was with all the crowds on there at once. 
This entire exchanged couldn’t have lasted more than 30 seconds. My parents caught up with me and the two white people who helped me were off again, hand-in-hand. I caught glimpses of them all night. They shared a hot chocolate on a bench and I saw them laughing at each other’s whipped cream mustaches. I saw him spinning her on the ice and I saw them laughing and smiling the entire time. Once or twice my eyes met the woman’s as I stared and she smiled at me and waved.

My parents noticed what they did for me as well and since that night they have never spoken an ill word against anyone based on their race and neither have I.

My one life wish is that I could find her. I don’t know who they are or where they may be. I have no names and no pictures of them. I want them to know about how they changed my life.

That’s a brilliant story. Thank you for sharing it. Never judge a book by its cover, eh? I’ll be wishing and hoping that you find them, as well. Though, I’m sure they know, at least to some extent, the effect they had on you.

This blog made me thing about my early childhood. You see I moved to where I live now and was bullied from Year 3 onwards. I’ve read a lot about bad memories so I wanted to try and think about where I used to live, maybe get some positivity back in my life (and on this blog).

First three things I think of: accidentally being pushed off a swing; impaling myself and moving to the North.

So yeah, my Dad accidentally pushed me off a swing when I was only 3. I wanted to prove how much of a big boy I was by using the swing without the safety bar. My Dad is still upset with himself for that, I turned 17 in July. It wasn’t his fault. I hope he eventually realises this.

I impaled myself at 4 and a half. It had to have been about that time ‘cause we were out collecting frog spawn at my Infants School (it had a small nature/pond area). We had to go around and if we saw frog spawn we had to get the teacher and she’d help us get it out. Well me and my friend Nick were wandering around and this grass-snake slithered out. He was terrified and ran. I ran after him, trying to tell him it was harmless. There was this little log that was being used as a bridge, Nick ran straight across it; I didn’t. I slipped fell and impaled myself on it. I remember the horror in my Mum’s eyes as she saw me with that hole in my chest. I was lucky though, somehow I didn’t pierce any vital organs.

Then leaving to move North. I sat on the front garden with the girl who lived next door. Her name’s Charlotte. We sat there and made daisy chains. And I told her how we’d probably be back soon anyway ‘cause the North is “stinky”. I didn’t speak to her again until last year.

But then I started thinking more. And some different memories filtered through: potato salad; fireworks; crabs and planes.

I’m known in my house as a bit of a potato salad nut. In case anyone doesn’t know what that is it’s boiled and cooled potatoes with mayonnaise/salad cream on it. And I know where that reputation comes from. There was a summer party on in Charlotte’s back garden. I can’t remember why but there was a party and they’d set out a load of tables with a kinda help yourself buffet going on. And at one point there was this huge bowl of potato salad on the table. I went and stole it then sat under the table and just ate the whole bowl with Charlotte. That is a memory that makes me very happy.

Two houses down from where I used to live, every year on Guy Fawkes Night, there was a house. There were two lads who lived there: one my age, one who was 13ish. I can’t remember their names but we’d go there every year. Well one year one of the fireworks tubes slipped over after their Dad lit it. It launched into the side of the house. The adults all stood there looking shocked while all us kids just creased ourselves with laughter.

Then I have this memory of this one pub that we always used to go to for family meals. And there was a time when my uncle visited we him and my dad ordered this crab between the two of them. It arrived, they glanced away for a second, looked back. Somehow I’d gotten the claw off and was now smacking it with my fork. Don’t know why but that memory for me of grabbing the claw and trying to beat it to discover what could possibly be inside such a weird looking thing makes me feel full of childish curiosity. 

And the other great thing about this pub was it had the nose of a plane in it. I mean it had a cockpit and you could push all the controls and they had escape slide to get down from it. I remember that and the yearly airshow we used to visit. I remember sitting on the sizzling roof of the car not daring to move in case a plane blew me away.

Maybe some time I’ll write some more of my life. Write about some of the bad things that have happened over the years. Maybe even write about some more of the good times… But this time up North. 

P.S. Thanks for making this blog, writing down some of my happy younger life memories has really given me a lift when I needed it.

Oh, damn! I didn’t realize I had messages. I’m so sorry, I have no idea how long this message has been sitting in my ask box.

Those all sounds like lovely memories. You’ve quite the adventurous and eventful life already. I can only imagine all the antics that will ensue in your future (that’s a good thing, don’t want a boring life, eh?).

The Make

My story is different. Maybe someone will recognize it. I have told a few people then decided to make it public on a blog site. I sold my soul when I was 10. I sold it to a demon for many things. Now most people say oh fuck this kid. He is just trying to get attention. No I am not. Some people believe in the supernatural, I am one of those people. I am now 15 and many things have changed since I sold my soul. The deal I made was changed a bit. The only way I could change the deal was to talk to Satan himself. I was scared talking to the devil in his domain. I felt small. Now part of my life is living without a soul. I don’t remember what it’s like to have one and ever since I sold it I haven’t been able to cry. I don’t remember what that is like either. But hey with the soullessness came madness and with madness came joy and fun. Now I am a very happy person and to all of those who say “Oh you can’t be happy without a soul it controls your emotions.” I ask you this, Do you not have a soul? Do you know what the price is and do you know what my deal was? No. So believe this story or not but its truly the only proof I have. My own words.

You’ve quite the story. I do believe I have a hunch for who this is. I wish you the best. Thank you for sharing!

It seems like everyone’s life story is quite exciting. Not exciting in a ‘Hooray!’ sort of way, but exciting in a ‘I would read a book about your life’ sort of way. Mine isn’t, but last year we had to write about something that had shaped who we are today (and include a ‘maxim’), and this is what I wrote. All my friends enjoyed it, so i hope you lot do as well.

As soon as our teacher told us that we were to write about momentous life occasions and how they have changed us, I was pretty sure I was not going to like it. All throughout my life, I’ve been sailing on smooth waters. If I have ever been drastically changed by an event, it has long escaped my memory. However, though my life seems exceedingly dull, I don’t let that idea get to me, and I never let it diminish the way I see myself.

            My outlook on the assignment only got dimmer the next day, when we read and judged last year’s contest winners. There was a girl with a dead father, a boy with a dead mother, a girl who had a potentially fatal illness, and a girl who had an aunt who had a potentially fatal illness. Oh dear, I though to myself, I don’t know anyone dead. I have no memory of being in a hospital, let alone terminally ill in one. Usually, I’m thankful for that, but when one has to write a heart-wrenching essay about growing up and “The Laws of Life,” it would be best to have some sort of tragic incident. I however am severely lacking in the tragic incident category.

            I’ve always been quite average in other categories too. I’m okay at music, and alright at dancing. I’m pretty good in school, but I’m not one of those impressive math prodigies, nor am I able to speed through school, get perfect SAT scores, and become a doctor at age 14. I have not been composing beautiful music since age four (yes, I’m talking about you, Mozart, though now I suppose you’re decomposing). I have no hopes of being the next Einstein either, since I don’t slack off in all my classes (it doesn’t help that I’m not German, either). So, at this point, I had ruled out writing about traumatic incidents, and also about my brilliant talents, of which I have neither.

            I sat down on my bed, feeling downtrodden and uninteresting. The rough draft was due the next day, and I had no ideas and no quotation to use. My father is still alive, so I can’t write anything about him. I can’t write about all my super skills, because, well, I’ve got none. Then I remembered one of my favorite songs: “Navy Taxi” by Kate Nash. I’ve always thought that the chorus relates to my life, where she sings, “Take your time love, ‘cause you don’t have to rush, ‘cause it’s your life and it’s no one else’s. Don’t let someone put you in a box.” If I had been in a cheesy movie, I would have jumped to my feet and shouted, “Yeah! It’s my life! What am I doing letting this assignment put me in a box?!” Unfortunately, I am not in a cheesy movie; I am in real life, so I did not jump to my feet and shout, I only yelled in my head.

            When somebody asks me to tell them about the important, pivotal moments in my life, the moments where I’ve learned valuable information, well, I can’t. Until now, because now, I have realized that I don’t need to be exciting to be significant. So, I’m still awaiting the moment that will change my life, and make it dramatic or intriguing (hopefully a late Hogwarts acceptance letter). Until then, though, I’m not going to let people put me in a box by telling me I’m boring. I’ll just remember what Kate Nash said, that it’s my life, and no one else’s, so no one else can tell me to make myself more interesting. I’ll take my time, thanks.

 Truth is, now my lack of interesting-ness is starting to get me down sometimes. I think about how most of the 12-year-olds in my dance class are and always will be doing way better than me, and one of my best friends who is really really good at clarinet, and how all I do is make good grades without really learning and sit at home watching Doctor Who on Netflix. But I keep telling myself to just wait, because I’m sure I’ll be good at something and interested in something enough to turn it into a decent career that I like… one day. 

P.S. I’m sorry if my essay is an annoyingly different font. I don’t think it’ll do that, but it might

P.P.S. I’m sorry if this is somehow insulting to people who have experienced tragedy. I didn’t mean it that way.

Sorry I didn’t publish this earlier! Tumblr didn’t say I had any messages…

You will have plenty of life changing events in your life, I promise you that. You don’t have to experience a death, or be a prodigy to have an interesting life, though. You already lead quite the interesting life. Everyone is unique. There has never been a you before, and there will never be a you again (well, assuming cloning is far past our time). There is just you. Living your life. Right now. A unique, interesting life that will never happen again.

Some of the most impacting moments in life are the seemingly irrelevant ones. That day a stranger smiled at you when you were having a gloomy day. Or that day someone dropped money on the ground and person, quickly picked it up and gave it back to its owner. I find the tiny moments to be just as important. Because, they usually aren’t triggered by a death, or genius, or what not, they are just seemingly normal people (who are actually far from normal, because everyone is interesting and brilliant, but that’s a ramble for another day) doing slightly more than seemingly normal things in a seemingly normal world. How do you think you’ve become the person you are today? Events have to occurred to shape you, yes, possibly tiny ones, but they’re still there, just because they may not be noticeable or apparent doesn’t mean they aren’t. Now I’m really rambling, so I’ll stop, and end with, you are quite the writer (I bursted into laughter at that Mozart pun, decomposing - hilarious!). Thank you for sharing.

P.S. No worries.

P.S.S. I don’t find it insulting. And I don’t think anyone else will.