January 24, 2010

The Pregnancy Pact


So Lifetime premiered a new movie, The Pregnancy Pact, which is about a high school with a wave of teen pregnancies. The girls planned to get pregnant causing mass chaos and a great debate between the school nurse and parents. In my high school we had a lot of girls who had children but I don't think any of them did it on purpose, poor planning or choices but not on purpose. Now I can't for the life of me understand why any teenage girl would want the responsibility of having to care for another human being. In the movie (I'm only 1/2hr in) the main girls seem clueless to what is going on and the magnitude of their choices. they are tricking the fathers of their children into getting them pregnant and could care less of they are a part of the child's life. They were excited to be pregnant and talked about having a girl so they could dress alike and have their own personal BFF. Excuse me but WTF? What is our world coming too when a teenager feels they need to have a baby to have unconditional love and attention? Shouldn't they be getting this from their family? Friends? Why is that a baby is the answer? Even now I now more people than I can count on both my hands and toes who have children who aren't married or established. What ever happened to love, then marriage, then the baby carriage? Is that too conventional, to traditional?

January 21, 2010

Empty


Empty,
Emotionless,
A shell, void of anything worth feeling,
As soon as I find joy or happiness it drains from me like an emptying sink,
I can't get a grip on my feelings,
They keep slipping away from me,
Leaving feeling like a zombie,
Wishing I could turn back the hands of time,
Change the past so that I could be what I use to be,
Happy,
Joyful,
Interesting,
Fulfilling,
Exciting,
I want to be lighter,
I'm so heavy now,
My spirit seems broken,
I can figure it out,
I pray,
I cry,
I scream,
I think,
I write,
Nothing has changed,
I don't know how to say this out loud,
Without pain,
Without tears,
Without frustration,
I feel neglected,
I feel unheard,
I feel invisible,
I feel alone,
I don't know why I try,
I know I won't give up, not yet,
But I don't know how much more I can take,
Before I finally break,
I'm tired,
So tired,
and empty...

By: Lyanna Hampton

This poem sums up how the past year and now has left me feeling. I try and try everyday to overcome the negative thoughts that I feel but I don't know.

January 19, 2010

On my mind


Have you ever wondered how you got to the point you're at? I have. At this point in my life I feel that I hit my height and that's a scary feeling. I'm nervous that what I expect to happen and what will happen are complete opposites. I know as a Christian I'm suppose to believe that through God all things are possible. I do but I can't shake the feeling that I'm missing something great. I guess I feel that things in my life are slowing down and not in a good way. I'm engaged, which is great, but after we moved the date back I've been feeling a bit down, maybe even lifeless about everything. One of my best friends says I feel this way because I had my hopes crushed and don't want to get hurt again, she may be right. It meant a lot to me and I guess I'm disappointed. It was a wedding buzz killer. Then i feel like I don't hang out with anyone anymore and all I do is sit on my computer and browse wedding sites or facebook. People are just too damn unattainable! What am I suppose to do about it? My closest friends live on the East side of the state and I'm on the West. If I try to hang with friends out here they're always too busy. Not to mention I don't have a job! I quit my job for one that was seasonal thinking my experience would save my ass...NOPE! So no money to do anything which sucks because I haven't been jobless in years! I guess it boils down to my self-worth and it not being very high. I'm not use to doing nothing, all this free time, or being sick/injured. I don't like being dependent on others because I couldn't do that when I was younger. I just pray everyday for strength, courage, wisdom, and knowledge so that what I aspire to be can one day be a reality.
Sorry for the depressing post but I just needed to talk.

Thanks for reading (or not),
~Ly

January 15, 2010

A Memoir

This is my first assignment of the semester, a memoir. This is a true event and I'm surprised at how much I remembered, so tell me what you think.


I’ve never had surgery, I’ve never broken a bone in my entire 23 years of life, but, I have gotten stitches.

I was around 8 years old; it was a mild summer morning on my block in Detroit, MI. I remember not having school so I think it was the start of my summer break. I had few friends since my family moved a lot. My mom was in and out of jail, same crime different time and had a minor problem with drugs.

This particular morning, my cousin, Shawnté, and our neighborhood friend, Linda, who was 13 at the time, and I decided we wanted to go ride bikes. Well my bike was broken so Linda said she would ride me on hers. Linda had a boy bike so I sat on the straight bar between the handlebars and the seat which was easy because of my small frame.

We went off down our block of large brick houses, enjoying the sunshine and fresh air. We were near the end of the block when Linda ran over a something in the street; she panicked and immediately slammed on the brakes of her bike. It all happened in a blur, I remember flying for what seemed like forever, I stretched out my small arms to brace myself for the fast approaching concrete, suddenly there was a massive pressure on my back slamming me into the street and sliding me about a foot on my face. Linda had fallen off her bike and landed right on me causing the impact to be worst. As I laid there she scrambled to her feet and all I could hear was her screaming “My hands! My hands! I cut my hands!” Next thing I hear was Linda grabbing her bike and taking off down the street. My cousin ran to see if I was okay and help me to my feet. By this point my eyes are filled with hot tears as the pain of my accident hits me full force. It feels like my face is on fire as the mixture gravel and tears sting the wound on my cheeks and chin. She exclaims “Oh my God! Lyanna you’re bleeding!” she then takes her hand to catch the blood gushing from my mouth and walks me back down the street to my home. All the way she kept repeating, “Oh my God auntie Shell is gonna kill Linda! Your face is messed up!” I couldn’t see past my tears I could only focus on the pain, the salty taste of blood in my mouth and how I got blood on my favorite Lion King t-shirt.

When we got to my house, a two family flat, my cousin shouted up the stairs, “Auntie Shell, Auntie Shell! Lyanna got hurt! She’s bleeding!” My mom opened the door to our apartment and I will never forget the words she said, “Oh well, shit happens.” My cousin helped me climb our stairs and my mother sent her home. My mother took me to the kitchen sink so she could rinse my mouth, I must of swished water around five times before she was satisfied. She sat my on our couch in the living room so she could analyze my face. “Oh this might be worse than I thought, it’s pretty deep. I’m going to call your grandmother so we can go see Dr. Monday.” Apparently when Linda landed on me, she forced my two front teeth into my bottom lip causing it to tear it open like a gutted fish. From sliding on the pavement the entire right side of my face was scraped open as well.

My mother cleaned me up and placed band-aids all over my face then sent my outside to sit on the porch and wait for my grandmother’s arrival. My cousin called me across the street to her porch and asked me was I ok. I told her my mom was taking me to the doctor. She was still in shock over what happened and was asking me too many questions to remember. Linda stayed next door to my cousin but she hadn’t come out of her house since the accident. She didn’t cut her hands; she didn’t shed blood at all just scraped off the top layer of skin. Her 16 year old sister was at the door and came out to see me. When she saw my face and lip she went to the door and screamed, “Linda what they hell did you to this little girl’s face?” I just looked at the ground silently.

My grandmother came not to long after and wanted to see the damage. I felt like an exhibit or oddity the way people kept inspecting me with their questions and puzzling faces. My grandmother agreed that I should go to the hospital to see what needed to be done. I remember sitting in the front seat and my feet dangling. I was so scared and anxious because I didn’t know what to expect. My grandmother and mom started to discuss the options for me. “It’s a really deep cut,” my mom said. “Yeah Shell she may have to get stitches,” my grandmother said. At the sound of the word “stitches” panic swept over me and I began bawling and screaming “I don’t wanna get stitches! I don’t wanna get stitches!” My mother tried to calm me down by saying it may not be as bad as they think but they wanted to make sure. I have been deathly afraid of needles since I can remember, even now as an adult I get antsy if I hear the word “shot” despite the fact that I have two tattoos and seven piercings.

When we got to the doctor’s office, which was right down the street from my grandmother, I was on edge. We only had to wait maybe five or ten minutes before I was called back, I think my mom called them in advance, so Dr. Monday could check my face. After a quick assessment Dr. Monday said I would indeed need to be stitched up, I froze with fear. She assured me that it would be okay and that they would give me an anesthetic so I wouldn’t feel anything. I could only whimper an “Okay.”

The nurse walked me down to a small room that had a row of chairs outside the door. This is where they made my mother sit; they told her she would be too upset seeing me get stitches. They let my grandmother come in the room with me so I would be more comfortable. I was laid on a small table and was told to relax, that everything would be fine. The nurse placed a thin sheet of paper over my face; it had a hole in the center which exposed my mouth. It was similar to a toilet seat cover but smaller and square shaped. Then the nurse placed a cold gel across my lip which numbed it so I wouldn’t feel any pain during the procedure. I remember it being bright white and hearing the voices of Dr. Monday, the nurse, and my grandmother as the doctor prepared her tools for the task. I was nervous and scared; I just wanted it to be over so I could go home. “Why is she breathing so hard?” asked the nurse. “Maybe it’s because she has this thing on her face,” my grandmother replied sarcastically.

Dr. Monday talked me through the entire process so that I would be afraid. I felt the coolness of the needle and the tickle of the thread going through my lip. It seemed like forever but it was really only 10 minutes. After three quick stitches I was on my way home.

During the following weeks I refused to leave the house. I wouldn’t go to the store with my mom; I wouldn’t go over my uncle’s or grandmother’s house. I went across the street to my cousin’s maybe a few times but she mostly came over to our house to play with me. My lip had swollen three times its normal size and my cheek was scratched up pretty bad. I can recall telling my cousin that I thought I was the ugliest girl in the world and I would never get a boyfriend. Can you imagine? Being worried about a boyfriend at 8 years old!

A month or so after I got the stitches, my cousin came over to play, I was standing in the mirror on our bathroom door looking at my face. I was tracing all the scabs on my cheek and lip. My lip was a mixture of flesh, scabs, puss, and thread and I started to pick at it. My cousin was freaking out telling my lip was going to come open and I would have to get my stitches redone. I just ignored her and shortly my scabs were gone and so where my stitches. I have a small scar on my lip to this day.


A Memoir

Be gentle! This is my 1st assignment of the year, it's a rough draft. It is a true story from my childhood. Tell me what you think.


I’ve never had surgery, I’ve never broken a bone in my entire 23 years of life, but, I have gotten stitches.

I was around 8 years old; it was a mild summer morning on my block in Detroit, MI. I remember not having school so I think it was the start of my summer break. I had few friends since my family moved a lot. My mom was in and out of jail, same crime different time and had a minor problem with drugs.

This particular morning, my cousin, Shawnté, and our neighborhood friend, Linda, who was 13 at the time, and I decided we wanted to go ride bikes. Well my bike was broken so Linda said she would ride me on hers. Linda had a boy bike so I sat on the straight bar between the handlebars and the seat which was easy because of my small frame.

We went off down our block of large brick houses, enjoying the sunshine and fresh air. We were near the end of the block when Linda ran over a something in the street; she panicked and immediately slammed on the brakes of her bike. It all happened in a blur, I remember flying for what seemed like forever, I stretched out my small arms to brace myself for the fast approaching concrete, suddenly there was a massive pressure on my back slamming me into the street and sliding me about a foot on my face. Linda had fallen off her bike and landed right on me causing the impact to be worst. As I laid there she scrambled to her feet and all I could hear was her screaming “My hands! My hands! I cut my hands!” Next thing I hear was Linda grabbing her bike and taking off down the street. My cousin ran to see if I was okay and help me to my feet. By this point my eyes are filled with hot tears as the pain of my accident hits me full force. It feels like my face is on fire as the mixture gravel and tears sting the wound on my cheeks and chin. She exclaims “Oh my God! Lyanna you’re bleeding!” she then takes her hand to catch the blood gushing from my mouth and walks me back down the street to my home. All the way she kept repeating, “Oh my God auntie Shell is gonna kill Linda! Your face is messed up!” I couldn’t see past my tears I could only focus on the pain, the salty taste of blood in my mouth and how I got blood on my favorite Lion King t-shirt.

When we got to my house, a two family flat, my cousin shouted up the stairs, “Auntie Shell, Auntie Shell! Lyanna got hurt! She’s bleeding!” My mom opened the door to our apartment and I will never forget the words she said, “Oh well, shit happens.” My cousin helped me climb our stairs and my mother sent her home. My mother took me to the kitchen sink so she could rinse my mouth, I must of swished water around five times before she was satisfied. She sat my on our couch in the living room so she could analyze my face. “Oh this might be worse than I thought, it’s pretty deep. I’m going to call your grandmother so we can go see Dr. Monday.” Apparently when Linda landed on me, she forced my two front teeth into my bottom lip causing it to tear it open like a gutted fish. From sliding on the pavement the entire right side of my face was scraped open as well.

My mother cleaned me up and placed band-aids all over my face then sent my outside to sit on the porch and wait for my grandmother’s arrival. My cousin called me across the street to her porch and asked me was I ok. I told her my mom was taking me to the doctor. She was still in shock over what happened and was asking me too many questions to remember. Linda stayed next door to my cousin but she hadn’t come out of her house since the accident. She didn’t cut her hands; she didn’t shed blood at all just scraped off the top layer of skin. Her 16 year old sister was at the door and came out to see me. When she saw my face and lip she went to the door and screamed, “Linda what they hell did you to this little girl’s face?” I just looked at the ground silently.

My grandmother came not to long after and wanted to see the damage. I felt like an exhibit or oddity the way people kept inspecting me with their questions and puzzling faces. My grandmother agreed that I should go to the hospital to see what needed to be done. I remember sitting in the front seat and my feet dangling. I was so scared and anxious because I didn’t know what to expect. My grandmother and mom started to discuss the options for me. “It’s a really deep cut,” my mom said. “Yeah Shell she may have to get stitches,” my grandmother said. At the sound of the word “stitches” panic swept over me and I began bawling and screaming “I don’t wanna get stitches! I don’t wanna get stitches!” My mother tried to calm me down by saying it may not be as bad as they think but they wanted to make sure. I have been deathly afraid of needles since I can remember, even now as an adult I get antsy if I hear the word “shot” despite the fact that I have two tattoos and seven piercings.

When we got to the doctor’s office, which was right down the street from my grandmother, I was on edge. We only had to wait maybe five or ten minutes before I was called back, I think my mom called them in advance, so Dr. Monday could check my face. After a quick assessment Dr. Monday said I would indeed need to be stitched up, I froze with fear. She assured me that it would be okay and that they would give me an anesthetic so I wouldn’t feel anything. I could only whimper an “Okay.”

The nurse walked me down to a small room that had a row of chairs outside the door. This is where they made my mother sit; they told her she would be too upset seeing me get stitches. They let my grandmother come in the room with me so I would be more comfortable. I was laid on a small table and was told to relax, that everything would be fine. The nurse placed a thin sheet of paper over my face; it had a hole in the center which exposed my mouth. It was similar to a toilet seat cover but smaller and square shaped. Then the nurse placed a cold gel across my lip which numbed it so I wouldn’t feel any pain during the procedure. I remember it being bright white and hearing the voices of Dr. Monday, the nurse, and my grandmother as the doctor prepared her tools for the task. I was nervous and scared; I just wanted it to be over so I could go home. “Why is she breathing so hard?” asked the nurse. “Maybe it’s because she has this thing on her face,” my grandmother replied sarcastically.

Dr. Monday talked me through the entire process so that I would be afraid. I felt the coolness of the needle and the tickle of the thread going through my lip. It seemed like forever but it was really only 10 minutes. After three quick stitches I was on my way home.

During the following weeks I refused to leave the house. I wouldn’t go to the store with my mom; I wouldn’t go over my uncle’s or grandmother’s house. I went across the street to my cousin’s maybe a few times but she mostly came over to our house to play with me. My lip had swollen three times its normal size and my cheek was scratched up pretty bad. I can recall telling my cousin that I thought I was the ugliest girl in the world and I would never get a boyfriend. Can you imagine? Being worried about a boyfriend at 8 years old!

A month or so after I got the stitches, my cousin came over to play, I was standing in the mirror on our bathroom

door looking at my face. I was tracing all the scabs on my cheek and lip. My lip was a mixture of flesh, scabs,

puss, and thread and I started to pick at it. My cousin was freaking out telling my lip was going to come open and

I would have to get my stitches redone. I just ignored her and shortly my scabs were gone and so where my

stitches. I have a small scar on my lip to this day.

January 13, 2010

Classes-First Day back at GVSU Recap

So yesterday was my first day back to classes after a okay Christmas break. I say OK because I realized after not working for 2 weeks my dream photography job was only seasonal and I spent two weeks on crutches since I jacked my knee up doing God knows. Anyway, classes, which are all Journalism courses, seem to be going well so I figured I would recap them for you.

CJR 316- Editing
My first class of the day, my professor came in and didn't speak to us for at least 10-15 minutes. It was really awkward. But once he got to talking he seemed pretty cool. Old timer with plenty of experience in Journalism, worked for the GR Press I believe, which oddly enough he's 1 of 2 of my profs who do. He had us introduce ourselves with the normal name, year, hometown and then he wanted to know our dream job. So after each introduction he gave his own personal opinion of our choice. In the end he had us take a "test" to see where our editing skills were at. I don't think I did to good without my AP book...

CJR 270- News Reporting
Only class I have with a female professor, who's Black, which is kinda a big deal here in West Michigan especially since she's not teaching an African-American/Women's studies course. She seems like she could be bitchy and not as helpful as my last News Reporting prof who was AMAZING! We had an in-class assignment due in 30 because she wanted to see were we where with our skills. I wasn't stressed I just thought she should have stop yakking a bit earlier so I it would be a more interesting story. Feeling indifferent about this class.

CJR 290- Journalism History
This will be my most difficult class for 2 reasons. 1) I don't like history, it's not my strong suit. Which is weird since my grandma taught history/social studies for years. 2) My professor is from South Korea and has only been in the states since 2004. He's a nice guy but his English is very poor. So a combo of the two and I foresee disaster! I'm going to try and survive and get that B I'm aiming for.

CJR 364- Article "Feature" Writing
This will be my favor tie class. I am really interested in feature writing which is a big plus. Not to mention my professor isn't too bad either. It's a 6-9 but he seems like he'll keep it interesting. I will be writing my butt off in this class but I expected I would be doing a lot of that this semester. We started on a in-class assignment which is a memoir. I started writing about a childhood accident and was in the groove and had to stop! LOL! No I have to finish it but I gotta find my groove again.

Overall I know that plenty of writing will be in my future which is good. I'm hoping this semester will help me improve my multitasking abilities. I haven't had to write on a consistent deadline and I'm sure there will be plenty to go around. I just hope I don't regret it by the time April comes!

Happy writing!
~Ly

January 12, 2010

Introductions

My name is Lyanna. I'm a journalist major at GVSU, this will be my 2nd Bachelor's degree from GV. My first is in photography. I love to take pictures and I love to write. I've been writing in journals and poetry since I was able to write! I am combing my degrees to form one career...photojournalism. My dream is to work for a entertainment magazine, maybe ESSENCE, EBONY, or SEVENTEEN. I enjoy giving advice and staying in the know. Like the name says, I'm a photojournalist In-training so just take it easy on me, I'm learning!