Quompt Makeup

When I read the beginning of this easy I wasn’t sure what this easy would be about. It’s such a strange title because in our culture “Dropping Babies” is seen as an abusive act. Rough handling babies’ period is highly looked down on. It makes me think about the phrase “never shake a baby” and how highly publicized it is. So when I read about how some cultures drop babies from temple roof tops as part of a spiritual ceremony it really frightened me. I don’t see how some people can see that as a blessing, good luck, or health. I instantly thought of child abuse and what if something went wrong and the baby fell and died. I don’t like the thought of dropping a baby even a couple inches because they’re so fragile. But I do think the author does some interesting comparing and contrasting between the crib and the village. The crib in this case is compared to the village people that will catch the baby when it falls. The only difference is the intentions of dropping the baby are different in both instances. The person accidentally drops the baby in the crib out of frustration while the baby is dropped from the temple intentionally for religious reasons. So why then is dropping the baby from the temple seen as such a bad act while the dropping in the crib isn’t? Maybe because the temple is so much farther up and there’s a greater risk the baby can get hurt than falling in the crib. But even still the baby could’ve gotten hurt from the crib fall since they’re so tiny. We just have to be careful and make sure we don’t let our frustrations get the best of us when handling babies because they don’t know any better.

Favorite Concert

“Ahhhhhhhhhh, I can’t believe I finally get to see Lil Wayne!” I could feel the excitement in my screeching voice pierce my best friend’s ears on the other line. We both cheered and screamed at this once in a life time opportunity. Finally, I was going to see the man who entered my dreams every night.  All of Wayne’s music overflowed my tiny baby blue Ipod Nano, his posters and cd covers decorated the bright pink walls of my adolescent room, his music was the only music played on my Myspace page, his quotes were my only Facebook status, and he was always the topic of discussion every time I’d talk on the phone to my best friend. We were constantly in competition over who loved Wayne more. It didn’t seem like a moment passed where we didn’t profess our love for him. Wayne was everything to me because he was so talented. I never heard anyone rap like that before it was clever, witty, and filled with all types of puns. He had such an “I don’t give a fuck attitude” and I loved it. The more my mom and dad would try to stop me from listening to him, the more I wanted to rebel. So when I found out one of my sisters’ friends had an extra ticket to go see Young Money, I was all for it and I knew I had to look my best. Finally, I was going to go see the one person who meant everything to me.

                I dyed my hair jet black to go along with my mid-length funky hair cut I’d gotten a couple days before.  I fluffed up my do with some Farrah Fawcett flips. I decided to spice up my make up with a Marlin Monroe red hot lipstick. I aligned my lips with a darker red lip liner pencil for definition and stole my mom’s “Chili Pepper Red” MAC lipstick. For my eyes I went with dramatic thick black winged eyeliner inspired by Amy Winehouse. My fit had to be right so I went for a sexy yet hip Rihanna look. I wore my H&M black and grey leopard pencil skirt. Hitting right below my knees it hugged my tiny curves in all the right places. I wore my favorite bright purple halter top. It tied around my neck showing a smidge of my upper back and on the front in gleaming sequins read “Bebe”. I kept it simple, but chic for my shoes sliding on my older sister’s black suede wedge heels. And lastly, the previous week I’d found a vintage Louis Vuitton mini clutch tucked away in the crevices of my grandmother’s attic. After wiping off the cob webs and dust, the little purse became the cutest accessory accentuating my outfit to the upmost. It was trapezoid -shaped, shiny patent leather material, off-white, with golden handles, and covered in the Louis Vuitton print. The bag was really special to me because it was my mother’s. I felt like I was her back in her party days, but I still wanted to add more of my own flavor to it. So I took an old broken necklace chain and attached it to the handles of the purse giving it an extension. “There.”, I thought, “ I look good so I  feel  good, now I’m ready to see Wayne.”

Memoir: 1st bus ride

The morning air was cool and brisk on my skin as my sister and I trudged to the bus stop across the street. We headed towards my new school mates, I gulped and my knees began to tremble. The kids towered over me making me feel like a tiny ant. They spoke so maturely and seemed completely un-phased about starting school. Too them, this day was nothing more than déjà vu. I clung to my older sister clutching her hand tightly within mine. She shot a cold glare at me and tried nudging me off of her until she saw puddles forming in the corners of my eyes. I heard a loud bustle that sounded like one of those huge 18-wheeler trucks I’d seen on the highways. I turned around and there in front of me was this massive burnt yellow contraption on six wheels. It smelled of smoke and gas and it was quite filthy. It was almost as tall as the tree on my front lawn and about as long as three cars, it read “Shaker City Schools” on both sides in black letters, and it had a thick black horizontal line stretching all around it. The bus driver stopped abruptly and the wheels loudly screeched against the pavement. Suddenly, the glass doors opened and a bright red blinking sign, which read “STOP” in bold white font, extended from the other side. All the kids marched to the bus in a single file line. My sister was headed for the back of the line. But still squeezing her palm, I resisted. My legs went numb and stiffened as if they had turned into cement pillars sprouting from the concrete side walk. “Come on Nia!”, my sister urged me, “It’s time for school!”. I took a deep breath in, closed my eyes and exhaled. My boney knees lightly smacked each other while I wobbled up the steps of the bus. The doors shut behind me before I knew it. And there I was contained within the stomach of that huge yellow monster formally known as the school bus.