Welcome to My World.

[Saintly Serenade]

❝Welcome to My World.❞

Hi there. .-.

I've always been interested in something like this... A blog, an online journal, a place to share my thoughts with whatever followers or wanderers out there. I'd say I'm a simple girl, with a simple story to tell, but I'd always be haunted by the blatant knowledge of telling a lie. Frankly, I'm not normal. I would say I'm not a bad person, I would say I'm not an extraordinary person, but... I really don't know what I am. Still trying to figure out those details.

So, from time to time, I'd like to post up stories of my past and ramblings of my days here. It's hard to expect anyone to take an interest in my life, for I don't consider myself a braggart, and yet it's also hard to expect people to ignore it once it comes out. There's a lot of secrets and matters unsettling, sweet moments as a child, and tragedies. Death; those of people I once knew, my own near-to experiences. Love; the innocence of a pre-kindergartener with her first secret admirer, the first-grader with her first crush, the turmoils reeked upon the heart of a teenage drifter. In time, I hope to place it all here. Maybe not in order, but it'll be here.

--Enter Hope Thompson, also known as "Kitty-girl" and, on the friendly strangers of the cyber-world we call internet, Little Miss Serenade.

 

[Saintly Serenade]

❝Welcome to My World.❞

Entry No. 001: A Little Hope.

To avoid any misleadings later, the point in which I'll start my life's story shall begin where we all begin: birth. I was born on March 18th in a hospital I believe to be called Desert Samaritan, though I may be wrong in my musing. The town surrounding my newborn self was one dubbed Mesa, in the state of Arizona, USA. To be honest, it's not necessarily its own town--I would describe it more as a subdivision to the larger city/capital, Phoenix. Lots of buildings and more on the way, it was a busy place and continues to grow this day. Saying this, it should be a common known bit that such a place would have qualified medical staffing. Though, a-kin to the rest of my life, everything about me revolts: shaking, yet unafraid; against the cold and revered odds.

After being birthed, ejected, from my mother's womb and severed from her umbilical cord, I was taken from the room in a hurry by several nurses. I can't say that I have accessible memory of such events, but they have all been accounted for by my parents and other family members; some first-hand witnesses, others second-hand and received 'from the waiting-lobby'. My mother, upset and perturbed by the hush anxiety of the employees, demanded to know what was wrong. Being that she moments ago had been in labor 'til the tip of any gentleman's hat at six in the evening, was presumably more than a tiny bit flustered. Of course, the saying, "Don't play with a mama-bear.", isn't for nothing.

Be it as it may, even my mother couldn't argue as I was promptly placed under an oxygen tent. Apparently, before I had 'escaped' my 'bloody confines', I had accidentally inhaled a particularly precarious amount of fluids. As I was taken into the care of doctors and other experienced professionals, it was deemed via whim and, later, ultra-sound, that I had a collapsed lung. I believe it to have been my right, though, again, this statement has the potential of being incorrect. After another full day or a few in the hospital, I was finally 'in the clear' to be taken home and cared for by my parents and other family members. Seemingly, I would have been there longer, had it not been for the coincidence that both my Grandmother (I call her 'Nana') Linda and Aunt Crystal, of my father's side, were nurses. In the unprecedented case of some sort of issue presenting itself, they would have the means to take control of the situation until medics arrived with help.

Despite all the drama and hull-a-baloo, I was borne otherwise a healthy and "stunning" infant. With short, soft whisps of white-blond hair, big blue eyes, chubby cheeks and fair skin--I was "gushed" over by those around me. The doctor whom actually delivered me teared up at the eye, telling my mother and father that I was the most beautiful baby he had ever seen, female or male. He said that he wasn't merely telling them so to be polite, but I was really, out of all the babies of that day and those past, the most bright-eyed, rosy-cheeked, and all-around "beautiful" child he had delivered. Of course, this I have only been told; it's not something I can recall myself if I so wished.

In summary, this would be the first scare in a long, oh-so-incredibly-long, chain of frights concerning my health and well-being. However, I was alive and breathing--the "source of Hope" given to my parents as a miracle from God, or whatever His/Her/It -'s name may be. Hope Thompson, the untainted baby girl destined for some sort of greatness--even if it may kill me to get my name 'in the books'.

Abita Springs, LA (USA). 3:13AM. 09/06/12.