"If you're always trying to be normal you will never know how amazing you can be"
-Maya Angelou- |
My blog post is inspired by a short story called Hills Like White Elephants (Ernest Hemingway) . The author made me as the reader look beyond what was in front of me, the story taught me to understand the usages of symbols without making it obvious to your audience to have your audience completely engaged in a scene and fully aware of what the story is trying to convey without knowing all the details prior to a particular scene. I was eight years old on a rainy day in June. I packed my overnight bag and placed it by the door I went to school as usual it was a cloudy that morning but no rain yet. When I got out of school I went into the house to changed my clothes. “I ask my mother can I go outside until it was time.” She replied “Yes, as long as it stop raining.” I said, "Okay it’s not raining.” She replied, “Don’t go too far and do not get dirty.” I ran to the door looked down at my bags and ran outside it was no kids playing outside my front. I walk around the corner in the complex we lived at to see if there was any kids playing in the playground it was completely empty. I was going to go down the sliding board but it was wet from the rain. I decided to head back to my house on the way I started to play in the puddle of water and I was soak, as I was running back home it started to rain when I open the door my mother said. “ Come here I have something to tell you” My mother was sitting on the couch with my Godfather. “Yes” I replied I was walking so slow because the look on they face was a look I have never seen. “ Come sit next to me “ I sat down and my mother grab my hand. “ Something happen to your father” “What happen is he okay” “No” my godfather replied “Your father was killed he was stabbed by three men he went into the hospital on Thursday night the doctors work on him for hours and he didn’t make it baby he died this morning” my mother replied “I am sorry boop” Godfather replied “Are you okay if you need to talk we are here whenever you are ready” I just went to my room shut my door and stared out the window and watch the rain in silence.
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Feeding Time
My blog post is inspired by a reading assignment that I am required to read for my English Composition 1 course title My Name is Margaret by Maya Angelou. The reading is meant for myself along with my classmates to have clarity on how to write a narrative story that we are emotionally bond to. The Neonatal Intensive Care Unit (NICU) at University of Pennsylvania hospital was a very high energy place in the afternoons that is usually when the room is pack of very concern parents because afternoon was feeding time. When I walk in font of the NICU I sign my name. The room always smell of medicine,pampers and breast milk with a mixture of hand sanitizer and disinfectant soap, the sounds of the chatter of the nurses and their shoes as you scrub in and wash your hands until it feels like that you had wash your skin off. The lights are bright fifty incubators with babies are line up waiting to be held and feed, as I am walking to my daughter Jordan bed the sounds of the machine are beginning to get louder, I am always wondering how do my baby sleep with all this noise. I pull the tray out with her bottles that the nurse put by her bed along with some medical tape and a sharpie pen, then I look at Jordan check her bed and rub on her tiny fingers and kiss her little feet while her toes are balled up. I sit down the nurse come over and ask me if I am ready I reply yes she bring the cart over with the breast pump as she is pushing it over the wheels are making a funny sound like the cart then had its day. I take the breast pump I pull out my right breast and place the pump suction cup on my breast and turn the on switch to the pump on. The pump makes is a swooshing sound as it is squeezing my breast to extract milk while the pump is working its magic I softly rubs Jordan head for ten to fifteen minutes, by milk take a while to extract because Jordan haven’t latch on my breast for feeding time in a couple of days. Now my breast has no more milk at this time I unhooked the suction cup twist off the bottle portion and wrote bottle 9/8/07 at 3:05 pm as I am taking a deep breath I put the top on the bottle. The nurse comes over and said we are not going to used this bottle for feeding today we are going to store it so when baby Jordan goes home she can have a milk supply, the joy I felt in that moment will always be the best feeling knowing that my baby is getting closer to going home. The nurse continue to say that from this day forward Jordan will feed from your breast while you are here and only feed from the bottle when you are not. I take my baby out her bed and place her tiny body up against mines position her head and latch her on my left breast for feeding time. My name is Quiana Tilghman I decided to take a road trip one Saturday morning because I was having writer’s block with a assignment that I was ask to do for my English composition course. I was unaware that I was about to discover myself from three complete strangers I meet in my travels. I left my home in Philadelphia around five in the morning, I didn’t have a clear direction where I was going I just wanted drive until I no longer wanted to drive or until I got inspired to write. I started down I-95 south I have now been driving for two hours and nothing blasting my music and singing all my favorite tunes and still nothing so I kept on driving for another hour and half I finally stop in Washington D.C. Once I was there I went to a coffee shop in George Town, called Make Something Happen Or Nothing At All. I walk in it was your typical coffee shop I order a Latte with extra cream knowing my stomach could not take all that cream but I brought it anyway. I sat down pulled my Laptop and some paper and a pen out from my bag to write down anything. I sat there for a twenty minutes with nothing on my paper it was just blank I probably had more expression on my face then I could have put into words. I was now completely discouraged at this point just wanted to drop the class because I said to myself this is not for me, I have “Quality without a damn Recipe” who I am I kidding. As my hands layed in my face with my head down I heard a voice say you having trouble when I looked up their was two women and one man sitting across from me . Come join us the man said and I did just that I begin to tell them I was having writer’s block they ask me my name and I told them and I ask them their names the man said his name was Don Murray and the two women their names were Anne Lamont and Mary Karr. Don and Mary asked was I here for the writer’s convention I said yeah right they all laughed. Anne said “Writing can be a pretty desperate endeavor, because it is about some of our deepest needs: our need to be visible,to be heard,our need to make sense of our lives, to wake up and grow and belong.” I said you hit that right out the water I sit in silence to take what she said and then Mary replied “Every writer I know who’s worth a damn spends way more time “losing” than “winning”, My response to Mary was how about when the lost becomes too much where you can no longer see the win. Don response was “Writing is the act of producing a first draft. It is the fastest part of the process, and the most frightening, for it is a commitment” Ann said “idea of shitty first drafts. All good writers write them” I ask them what can they tell me so I can get the “shitty first draft, Ann looked me dead in my eyes and said “What I’ve learned to do when I sit down to work on a shitty first draft is to quiet the voices in my head”. That is my biggest problem letting go the voices often times they are so loud that I usually go to sleep to try to make them stop, that is why I decide to try a different approach and drive. Don said sweet girl “we must listen carefully for those words that may reveal a truth, that may reveal a voice”. As I was about to speak Mary said “before you can work consciously, though,you go through a phase of developing a critical self”. I just thought I was a bad writer not that I was afraid to dig deep. Mary said “reading through history cultivates in a writer a standard of quality higher than the marketplace”. “You can be a slave to current magazines or a slave to history”. I replied so it is best to pick a lane that your comfortable in that will exposed your uncomfortability tap in and dig deep. Don said “first by shutting up”. “And you don’t learn a process by talking about it, but by doing it”. I told them thank you that they allowed me to be comfortable with having terrible drafts and that it will not always make sense the first time as long as I am willing to go through the process and not worry so much about the assignment that I will be just fine. Because it is perfectly fine to have “shitty first drafts” as Anne will say.
My name is Quiana Tilghman I was ask to do a questionnaire called The Proust Questionnaire for a english composition 1 course at Delaware Community College. The questionnaire is designed to ask question that will help people seek truth about themselves, I am sharing my answers to understand my own truth and in the process help someone find they truth.
What is your idea of perfect happiness? Having inner peace being completely comfortable in my own skin. What is your greatest fear? The fear of not trusting and allowing that part of pain making me bitter and unwilling to love without conditions. What is the trait you most deplore in yourself? Allowing people I love misuse my love What is the trait you most deplore in others? When someone has a lack of gratitude Which living person do you most admire? My Mother her strength as a women, as mother her ability to keep fighting and not letting breast cancer defeat her. What or who is the greatest love of your life? God and all her entirely When and where were you happiest? When I became a mother that made me become selfless Which talent would you most like to have? A Olympic gymnast and Olympic swimmer. If you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be? To have more confident and to allow myself to stand in my truth even if it is uncomfortable for someone else. What do you consider your greatest achievement? Becoming a mother once that happen that made me become a person even when life gives me challenges my daughter gives me the driving force to keep going If you were to die and come back as a person or a thing, what would it be? A tree is tall firm and deeply rooted and constantly growing and expanding with beautiful color leaves. Where would you most like to live? Hawaii so I can enjoy the sunshine do yoga on the beach and eat plenty of fish and exoctic fruits. What is your most treasured possession? My heart I protected and every day I work really hard to keep it at its purest state. What do you regard as the lowest depth of misery? Being a daughter of a murder father. What is your favorite occupation? Nursing What is your most marked characteristic? The ability to always see good even in the worst moments. What do you most value in your friends? Loyalty and laughter with the ability to pour and support one another. Who are your favorite writers? Zora Neale Hurston and Maya Angelou. Who is your hero of fiction? Super Women Which historical figure do you most identify with? I honestly have have no clue who that would be. Who are your heroes in real life? My Brother I admire his strength and his willingness to always show up for me even when I don’t want him to. What are your favorite names? Paige & Jordan What is it that you most dislike? Racist people no matter ethnic background What is your greatest regret? Not speaking up when I was first violated. How would you like to die? By natural causes old age no life threatening illness. |
AuthorQuiana Tilghman I am writing to express my inner self from question from a questionnaire. Archives
May 2019
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