I look normal, though honestly, I am not.
You wouldn’t know or think twice. Usually my speech or repeating giveaway
A disorder, not fully aware, like to share and explain how it came to be,
The inner struggles, and hopefully food for thought.

My Mom was pregnant with me at forty-two
When the doctor gave her fear, saying I would possibly have Down syndrome or any disability.
But I came out healthy, no problems, double the blessings—-
Being brave and having faith as the breakthrough.

It began one evening when I was only three;
Dinner time was announced, yet I didn’t react or turn around.
My family called my name, screamed, clapped,
Trying to get any attention from me.

One diagnosis was I was becoming deaf;
But up close I could hear just fine, though not everything that was called “normal”
So the solution of having autism was left.

My parents took me to an autism specialist,
And after some tests, came with a smile and said,
“She does not have autism!”
Was the heartfelt testament.

Some signs looked like I have it,
But not correctly, especially how I talked to nurses, keeping their gaze with
A tongue not knowing when to quit.

The long-awaited solution took the form of a rare cause:
Auditory Processing Disorder, or APD for short, was the answer for how I hear and talk.
But for anyone who’s never heard it, come to a confusing pause.

What is APD? What is this disability disorder?
How I explain is like the brain “can’t hear,” may not hear everything,
Even if it was all in order.

For instance, say you tell me three things to do:
I may catch the first instruction, somewhat of the third.
Often the middle I didn’t hear fully, all muddled, not a clue.

I hear just fine, but not always entirely.
My speech sometimes takes work, accidentally repeating.
Visionary learner I proudly am, but everywhere is almost
Auditory teaching is painfully screwing.

I’m a fast learner in many areas, yet slow to learn in other depending sections.
Been jeered by peers growing up for being “slow,” and by teachers and other adults
Thought I was “disobedient” from given directions that
Lead to harsh corrections.

From age four to twelve, twice to three times a week
Having appointments, with different lady teachers, for speech therapy.
Wasn’t grateful then, as I am now, a therapist to a student
Hard at emotional work to teach me the right way to speak.

Almost daily in conversation can be a slip of the mind
It is repeating a topic, a joke, or a feeling that I had mentioned already before.
My words can get mixed up, like “say potato,” which can be misheard as “save turtle.”
I try to make sense, though mentally one thing to find, is give myself grace and be kind.

Even finding a job or more wasn’t always easy;
If misunderstood stepping in leads to overpowering stress, and not getting something
Right make anxiety all the more queasy.

It’s very easy to believe that you’re all alone and can be quite different.
Can be somewhat blessing and curse, though half quiet and kept to self,
Or more ways than one be outgoing or vociferant.

There is great beauty that doesn’t have to be like everyone else:
“I’m not normal, so I’m not boring!”
This world’s too busy to take precious time to see beauty in differences with reassuring
Words that are meant for restoring.

I want to make a difference, a purpose, for those who are like me.
No one is ever perfect. No more focus on what you can’t but focus on what you are able—
The secret of pure joy and growth of life is key.

Being misunderstood does leave a bit of a bruise.
Every day I have a choice to make——self-pity and hide away
Or look for great possibilities for a meaningful life
With an extra mile in my shoes.

My much younger self would have been shocked today:

I wear jeans as much as I love jean skirts,

Would had strongly suggested that I had strayed.

Now in childhood, it wasn’t always like this before.

Used to wear all kinds of mismatches, costumes, shoes, and

Even display self to explore.

Then one day became part of a group,

A strict fundamental sort, was very welcoming,

And had let me into their troop.

There were rules, too many to count.

We don’t do this or that,

All would come at the cost of the amount.

“We must wear skirts from now on,”

What I was told——so unfortunate to me that never happened before,

Was now the new change that was thrust upon.

“You would make boys lust and sin,

It would be your fault, and you wouldn’t look good in pants,”

The disheartening words I then let my mind enter in.

Hem must be way below the knees.

No slip of any kind should be showing nor any see-through,

And the butt part of the material must never have a tight squeeze.

For most of my teen years, I was a happy advocate.

After all, girls can do anything in a skirt!

Beliefs and dreams of mine back then seemed to be going straight.

Unfortunately, everything came crashing down when we had to leave.

For they then started teaching things that didn’t sit right,

Things that we knew wholeheartedly did not believe.

Looking back, I bet my parents felt awful.

Taking us away from one church to a different one,

But they wanted us to grow and live by the true Gospel.

I will admit, for two years I was grieved.

I thought I knew who I was, who I thought I was to be,

Used to be fully confident that my dreams would achieved.

Now, from one big church building to a tiny congregation in a small community hall,

I was not used to it, I wanted to go back, yet I knew what fundamentals taught

That they weren’t fully right in their teachings at all.

Through the next few years I still wore jean skirts,

I still believed in it and was very comfortable. Well, also didn’t want to distract

Guys and remembered all the fat girl insecurities that still hurts.

I got to be part of ministry groups in different states.

All of them kind people, working together, challenging good traits,

None was judging or condemning anyone in humiliating disgrace.

I met many women in jeans and pants, never wore in any sexual way.

They were all in heights, shapes, weights, shades, and all radiantly beautiful.

None of the gentlemen had a look toward the opposite gender like prey.

It was all very new thought to me;

In a new environment, a new life, would it be okay to change completely,

Even if it means not every one of the old friends will agree?

In this world, it says “Go for it! Rebel!”

Please understand, not everyone wants to change very quickly,

For patience takes time for a person’s life on a whole new level.

I studied the beliefs, asked questions, and many a time thought and prayed——

Change a lifestyle to wearing jeans, no turning back, explore, and create new dreams.

A part of me wanted to try, yet another was afraid.

What if I didn’t look good in pants because of no thigh gap?

How do I handle response, criticism, or judgment? Then again, I can no longer live in

The past, so out of questions and doubts I snap.

Getting back into wearing jeans felt…surreal yet weird.

I started wearing them at home, then later in town, then in other places.

I did get stared at by those who knew me and wished their stares disappeared.

Half a decade later I’ve gotten used to this living.

I have no regrets about this change, this chapter, the awesome fashion in my wardrobe.

A new kind of happiness called joy is worth every day reliving.

I have no grudges on those long ago by what they taught.

Sometimes many have good things to share, to teach, to learn, to encourage,

But in the end, self becomes the center instead of individuals they forgot.

I have a man who loves me for my heart more than my body.

New faces and strangers see me for my character, smile, testimony, and what I can give.

For the last few words to say here with my coffee:

Clothing does speak of a person but never use it to curse.

Have a lovely heart, a kind face, live joyfully, be a beautiful person always——

That was how I went to jeans from jean skirts.

There are so many good quotes out there, but instead of picking just one, I’m fond of two mottos since they kind of go hand-in-hand:

“Never a dull moment!” and “Boredom is never allowed!”

I would like to take credit for either one but that is not possible. I can’t even remember where I first heard them…. I know I heard them as a teenager. Before anyone picks on me with these two by saying “Well that’s cheesy,” give me a few minutes to hear me out:

We can ALL remember more than one time as a child when we whined, “I’m bored!” Boredom is defined as being uninterested in what you’re doing. It’s not just having that phase as a kid or a teen. It follows us into adulthood. Sometimes, it can become a sad sight as it forms into a bad habit. Even if we were to spend all our free time on social media, we would still find ourselves bored or empty. I feel like boredom steals away the few minutes of being alive, being excited, being creative, being helpful, and enjoying the small hobbies that you can’t stop thinking about doing.

So, what to do with boredom? I remember someone recommended serving and helping others. It can be chores for the tired parent. It can be yard work for the old lady up the street. It can be babysitting the kids for the single mom. It can be tutoring for students struggling behind. It can be doing charity work, shelters, or fundraising. Also, that same person said, “If you’re bored, you’re selfish.” It’s kind of a joke, but also quite true. Whether helping someone or getting back into the hobby you missed so much, there is no room for boredom. It’s even become a home rule in my life.

Maybe we’ve even been to the one place we said was dull, the meeting is dull, or the exact moment is dull. Dull is lacking excitement or lack of interest—-goes well with boredom. Dull is plain, gloomy gray. Sometimes it becomes the word in the mind that tells us, “This sucks.” Let me ask you: does it have to be dull?

Not everything in life has to be dull. For example, there were some quiet days when at work. Not many customers. All shelves have been dusted. The numbers have been counted. Everything is checked, double-checked, and triple-checked. So how do I pass the time? When having a standing job, I danced to the music. I didn’t care if I was being watched, it actually entertained other coworkers watching me dance till they found themselves dancing too. It wasn’t like full-blown crazy party time. I just wouldn’t allow dullness to kick in. It was an opportunity to enjoy the moment.

Finding the doors of the sweet things of life, and shutting the doors of boredom and dullness, will bring pure joy if you allow it. It can be found in your job. It can be found in your free time, at home, with your family and friends, anywhere. You don’t have to wait for the opportunity, make and be the opportunity. I don’t consider myself smart. But I do know that life is short, and a lot of wasted time is being flushed away. We need to make room for problem-solving. Take time to enjoy time with others. Carry the torch in helping the communities. Find and do the small steps. It will lead to big steps, making a difference in our lives, and in others.

Dear Family Friend,

It’s been a while since I last wrote you a thank you note or any letter.

It’s not even ten years since you went to the After Life.

In the beginning, I would never have considered you and your sister becoming our friends of the family since we had nothing in common. But life is full of great surprises.

My brother and I still remember when I put my big life-size plush dog in the coat closet to jump at you when you opened the door. And then you did the payback of putting him in the bathtub behind the shower curtain for me to jump back. Good one!

It was lovely of you to cut your long auburn hair and donate it to make wigs for kids with cancer. I never realized how thick it was. I still treasure my long hair, but intend to donate it one day in your honor.

When having your first grandson, you kept saying “I’m too young to be a grandma!”, as one in her forties. Soon enough, you would not stop talking about him and showing many baby pictures. I almost wanted to poke fun at the fact that you weren’t ready to be a grandma beforehand. I’m so glad now I kept quiet——it was one of your most joyous times, a month before the diagnosis.

I know everyone has habits, and sometimes can’t help it. Yet, this was one of those times that I hated smoking.

Because you loved my handmade items, you asked that I knit you a purple hat with the light yellow cancer ribbon attached. I always knew that I would knit hats for cancer patients. But never thought the first was to be for a friend.

When you had the strength to visit, you proudly displayed the hat I made. Then, you took it off to show your bald head that once held the short thick auburn hair. I knew that the hair was gone. I only stood there, emotionless, mind blank. With your hand on my shoulder, from hazel eyes to brown eyes, you said “It’s going to be alright. I’m fine.”

You needed to say that for yourself than for me at the time. You wanted courage. You never want us to worry or fret.

For months, it looked like you would beat it. In the end, cancer beat the chemo. Only months left. There was nothing to do.

You and your family got to watch over my cat, for the last time, She sure liked you since she was a kitten. I believe she knew you were going away, because she wasn’t energetic, and didn’t want to play for six weeks… as if she were in her way of mourning.

It was a stormy, summer Sunday when you left.

Your memorial service was very colorful. Your “Wizard of Oz” collection is on display, some items for auction (so to take your ashes to New York since you wanted to go there), with cookies and donuts, and many of the firefighters there as friends of yours. And it’s like you are playing the last prank by being late to your funeral! (They forgot to take your ashes to the altar!)

You always admired anything made by me and my brother. You said that if any of us became famous, you would love a personal autograph. Your sister and you were among the few who believed in us. Sometimes, I feel survivor’s guilt since you aren’t here to see our success or published work based on your encouragement and support. It will even be harder in the years to come.

Yet, you never would want me to live a life that isn’t mine. You wouldn’t want me to pity or be easily discouraged, not even let me live the simple life, knowing I wouldn’t be happy to live that way. You would want me to unlock all the creativity from my mind to change the world!

So far, your sister stopped working in the cleaning business and now works alongside children with special needs.

My brother is still in love with filming and has worked on a few fun projects.

You would have loved to meet my husband. He’s very sweet, supportive, and has some jokes and pranks up his sleeve from time to time like the rest of us.

As for me, I’ve been working on my handmade items for a future business, but have my hands full in writing projects. Each one step closer to something more to fulfill the long-time dream.

We all miss, and think of you, often. I know that whatever my life will be, you will shout and cheer me on. I will see you again one day, friend.

New Years Resolutions –
One I accomplished no slack,
Each check off the box,
Each proud moment to look back.

But in the last few years,
I’ve been slipping and failing.
Because of the busyness of life
That can be both great and heartbreaking.

Goals for this twenty-twenty-four
Like anyone else has;
Weight loss, exercise, being healthy more,
Read books, invest in friendships,
Devotions, meditation, and journaling
For each morn to pass.

Don’t forget being on a forgiveness journey
—To let go of offenses, be set free
From those long ago did me dirty
And make me a better person who I ought to be.

Will add more as I have dreams
Of writing stories for the whole world to see.
One book idea of a decade,
A screenplay, two, or more with
Fantastic scenes.

Yes, I love stories
—especially with themes
Happy, sad funny, cry,
All to relate when life intervenes.

Now, the last resolution is only small,
“Life Dad up” is what’s written on the list;
As pieces of my world fall
Bit by bit through illness’s mist

It was one thing, then another,
Test given, test about
All came what was fully discovered:
Dementia. Was without a doctor’s doubt.

Just like any year we’re in
It’s born, then dies,
Was his disease that stayed with
No intentions for goodbyes.

My Dad, my once strong hero,
My fright, protector, and friend
In his place was someone different
In his dark corner—knowing he is coming close to a complete end.

I have no fears for when he goes
to After-Life and farther.
But the one worry I do have, is the day
he will no longer remember I am his daughter.

They say “You got your whole life ahead of you,”
Whenever I feel old
But “Life is short.”
Is the truth to be told.

“Don’t take the little things in life
Granted,” another to say.
‘Cause life is a gift, you never know
What comes in the day.

Knowing when it comes or unpredictable,
Emotions and thoughts come high and low;
Tempted to give in despair
My Dad tells me his prayers for me to know:

“I want to leave behind a legacy of love,”
“Have faith, trust, and pray,”
“Work in what you love doing,” and
“If you’re led to do something, do it today.”

Giving wisdom and advice for a lifetime
Like any parent would for their kid;
He’s said many things but few I keep,
I realized my Dad’s wisdom is never one to forbid.

So, I still follow my resolutions but with a hard,
Yet good, approach for the year:
To keep writing, and to be present with family—
Both of which I hold to my heart so dear.

I must not give up—no, I mustn’t!
My aim, my prayer, my wish, my goal:
Is to write, to publish, any story reaches the world
With heart and soul.

And for any story I write—-
For any to be published, seen, and read;
For my Dad to witness, be proud, for a writing that treaded
In sweat and love to spread.

A gift, a talent, from father to daughter,
Each story inspired is never in vain.
A legacy placed before me with much encouragement, support, and love—-
A secret of life makes me the richest to gain.