2012, NOT the end of the world.

Three weeks.

I sat on my living room couch, watching cartoons mindlessly for three weeks. It

was September 2012, the beginning of my eighth grade year. While everyone else was back in

school, I was flipping channels between Spongebob and The Simpsons. A confused

thirteen year-old, just wanting to do homework and be with my friends, I wondered

why I was wasn’t in school.

In broken sentences, and a broken tone, my mom explained that I couldn't go to school

because she could no longer pay for it. I was an adolescent girl who never had a real struggle, didn’t know the meaning of finances and had trouble understanding the word

“Can't”. Tears streamed from both of our faces. I tried to hold it together for my mom, hugging her as reassurance that it was okay, even though my mind yearned to be in school. I started emailing my teachers for missing work but I never received any responses.

Three weeks.

Broken home, broken house. Tears fell from my face and I didn't know why. Broken home, broken house. Days would pass as I sat there in my living room, three weeks. My mom would leave home in the morning and return at night with a different vibe. Each day I imagined her telling me to pack my backpack and get ready for school. Instead, in reality, she mumbled softly,“Not today”. Broken home, broken house. Arguments rang out between her and my step-

father.Not knowing how to react, I simply sat on the couch, tuned them out, and watched cartoons. Broken home, broken house. One day, my mom was home, but no car was in the driveway.Broken home, broken house.The next day, the noise of arguments didn’t fill the house; instead, the sound of emptiness lingered from one less person living in our home. Broken home, broken house.Days later my mom told me to pack up my stuff, but I wasn't filling up my backpack. I was stuffing my personal belongings into large brown boxes, and then we made our way to grandma’s house.Broken home, no house.

Three weeks.

There was a problem and sitting on the couch was not going to fix it. My teachers weren't able to email me assignments because I was not enrolled as a student.I started reaching out to my classmates asking them to email my homework so that I wouldn't fall

behind. Luckily they did just that, and some friends even had their parents bring the work to my me. My mom was doing her part so I had to do mine. Although it seemed like we had hit our bottom financially, I was determined to stay on top academically, even if I was not physically in a classroom.

Three Weeks

Living room couch, cartoons, but all I wanted to do was go to school. I tried to stay positive for my mom’s sake, but not knowing the extent of our situation, I was not aware of how she truly felt. Failure.

One afternoon with tears streaming down her she said to me “Get ready, you're going to school tomorrow”. The next day my friends and teachers greeted me with open arms. My home. A new type of tears filled my mom’s eyes. The weight from our initial hardships had lifted from her shoulders. Happy House. As I progressed through the school year, my being was not hindered by what had happened, I was determined to succeed and did not let our initial challenges defeat me.

I completed eighth grade with honors and was selected to speak during the graduation ceremony. I turned a negative situation into a positive one.

My mother. My Idol, the one who showed me how to push through when nothing seems to be going right. She gave me a light to look forward to everyday.

I will never forget that year, the problems, and how it all made me stronger. I will never forget those days on my living room couch, where I watched cartoons

mindlessly. September 2012.

Three weeks.