Ladi6

It was like we moved schools and she gave me for Christmas a little notebook with a little poem inside, roses are red, violets are blue kind of thing.

And I started handing it around to all my peers in my class, getting them to write little notes.

And then eventually that led to me journaling.

Man, it's just so lucky that I got into that.

And so I had this practice already in place of sort of self-reflecting and trying to get to the heart of like, first it was just venting.

Dad's a fucking idiot, blah, blah, blah, you know, that kind of thing.

And then eventually you start like as you get older and, you know, your brain starts to develop, you start to get to like, oh, I felt like this, you know, why is that?

Like what's going on?

I think it might be this.

I think it might be that.

And then that led me to, like, self-help books, essentially.

I started reading, like, The Power of Now and things like that.

And it all started to – I mean, my parents had always kind of had this, but this is the one thing about them not having any sort of, like, professional help, right?

Because they always felt like that they were the sort of, like –

What's the word?

They were the ones that knew about where they came from.

No one could tell them anything, you know.

But the problem with not having actual professional help is that I knew their backstory and understood their identity more than I ever understood my own, my whole entire childhood.

Because all they talked about was their testimony of their childhood and all the things that impacted them and their siblings.

You know, the immigration story, them running away from and joining gangs.