Posted: July 17th, 2022

Autobiography of a Simple Girl…Yeah Right.

How does one start an autobiography? I tried reading some other works and some would start off with “Hello my name is… ” or “I grew up in a blah blah blah”. Nothing seemed very inspirational so I guess I’ll just start with my name. Alicia. It’s just a simple name. I was born on a Friday. My mother was born and raised in Puerto Rico until she was 25, she moved to NYC in the late 80s. My dad was born and raised in the Dominican Republic until he was 22; he too decided to move to NYC in the70s.
They met at some warehouse in the late 80s and around ’89 they started living with each other. Then in January ’91, I decided to be free from the comfortable womb. I figured it was time to explore the world. So of course with my Puerto Rican and Dominican parents, the only language in the house is Spanish. My dad worked at a school as a janitor and my mother was a babysitter with 14 kids in our small apartment in the Bronx. That till this day, we still live in that small Bronx apartment that is now an official daycare. I was my mom’s one and only and she worked so hard so I could get whatever was best for me.
She would buy fabric and by the end of the week, I would have a new dress ready to show off to the world. She would match whatever outfit I was wearing with my shoelaces if I happen to be wearing sneakers. It was her doll. I was her baby. Until I was 5, my dad would take me to the barbershop and get my boyish haircut, basically and small little fro. I don’t what in the world was going through my parent’s mind but I looked like a boy if I didn’t wear a dress until I was 5. This isn’t even a joke. When I was four I looked like 6 years old, so anyone who would walk past would say, “Wow, that little boy of yours is so adorable”.

And then my mother would say, “She’s a girl”. My mother told me that they would just walk away out of embarrassment. I think around the fifth or sixth time someone has said that my mom decided that it wasn’t a good idea that I kept getting the boyish haircut. Back to my father, my father thought of me as his prized possession. Since I am the only child that he helped raise with. You see my father hasn’t been so innocent in his life. He went around in his youth and well I’m his fourth child from his fourth woman. It’s the biggest stereotype of most male Dominicans; I still chuckle about it.
I have an older brother named Charlie. The second oldest is Melisa and then the third oldest is Angie, and then there’s me, just in case you forgot. Also since I am the youngest, I’m his baby. But there has been tension in my family due to my father’s actions. So siblings. Yeah, I love them to death but like I kind of explained before… tension. My brother Charlie, the oldest, the boy or I should say man. The one who carries the name has done some bad things and sadly had to pay the price. In my freshman year of High school, my brother was sent to prison for manslaughter.
I personally do not know if he really did it but they gave him fifteen years. Around that time I entered my “Goth” phase, but I don’t believe I have left that phase. All through high school, I was angry and depressed. But I never took my frustration to my parents, which I should have but I fear that they would be so disappointed, so that kind of steered me away from rebellion. It’s weird I know, but I was a strange person growing up. My sister Melisa, the one I wish I got to understand better must secretly hate me. She has two kids, they are sweet but I don’t see them as much.
My sister Angie, I grew up with her for a bit. I love her, but she was a misunderstood teen and made some funky decisions that made some explosive arguments between our dad and her. She was considered the black sheep of the family. I love her to death but now I don’t see her. She had three kids, and I became an aunt when I was seven because of my sister. Now my sister is ten years older than me, so she was a teen mom and my father hated that. Luckily he was nice to his grandchildren except for one. Now no more of this or this will turn into a chapter book. High school was absolutely boring.
I entered a predominantly black and Hipic high school, even though they were all for diversity you would see that in my school. I was an honor student. I didn’t get bothered or bullied because everyone thought I did voodoo because they were so ignorant. I was a Goth not a witch even though I befriended a witch. She caused trouble. But that did rid the bullies and even the gangsters away. They were just friendly to me. I kept a camera around and I would record my friends doing stunts and jokes. I would edit it and then in the end we would have a few laughs.
That’s when I realized that I loved painting too. I spent more time in the art room than my other classes, and yes I got really good grades. High school, now thinking about it, went by really fast. College! Now that was the best time of my life. I went to a school far away from home. I wanted to be away from my overprotected parents. I wanted to be free and learn how to cook for myself and do my own laundry whenever I wanted to. I was able to paint and experience new things that my parents will never know. The college I went to was out of a fantasy book.
Filled with haunted stories and farms to no end. The best parts would be the friends that I made, all the art classes I took, and the lake. It was something I wasn’t used to. I lived in a city for eighteen years and living in that place rural with the closest city an hour away. So it was a huge culture shock, but I made the greatest friends a girl could ever make. I was there for three years, I have found love and I have found so much knowledge. I grew up when I was there. Sadly I couldn’t afford it, so I took a break from school and withdrew from that school.
Seven months I wasn’t in school. Looking for a job, failed miserably. So here I am typing this down. I’ve been helping my mother with the 7 or so children in the daycare. To entertain me I created arts and crafts for toddlers. I taught my 2-year-old how to write. Right then and there I realized that I wanted to be a teacher, again. I’ve always wanted to be that but I always kept that to myself. I am back in school. Soon I will be the art teacher that I want to be. But for now, stay in this new school, enjoy the city and just be me.

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