Once upon a time, there was a little girl. She spent her days locked in her room, reading book after book to escape into worlds unknown to her, and finding freedom within their smooth pages. She knew little of jumping rope and using hula hoops, her coordination limiting her in those regards. What she knew of was books, and dreams and hopes of one day being something different. Being a “grown up” seemed to be the golden key. The door that would open endless possibilities and happinesses. No more being told what to do. No more scrubbing floors and meaningless chores. No more being different, an outsider. She would automatically belong. She’d marry her Prince Charming and they would live happily ever after.
Well, about 25 years ago, I was that little girl with all of hopes for life laying before me. I never did get that golden key. And merely exchanged difficulties of childhood (as I saw them) to newfound difficulties of adulthood, motherhood and the like. Once upon a time, I thought my life would be perfect and it has been far from that. So this is who I am still at heart, just a little girl snuggled in the corner of my bed reading books and waiting for my life to begin.
Latina Bella 
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