The Sims 4

So, I recently got a new laptop and started redownloading everything that I’ve had on my old laptop. The older laptop is in pretty good condition so I am giving it to my friend Nelson. After downloading Microsoft, I decided I would download my games again. I had StarCraft, The Sims 3, The Sims 4, and Sim City…I had a few more but I only ever play StarCraft.

Anywho! I started with The Sims 4 and haven’t gotten around to downloading the rest. (FYI – this is not a Halloween post!) After starting up the game and creating my character, I became addicted. I haven’t played this game since high school, so I was amazed at how much it has changed. My family members had gotten me a couple of the expansion packs, but I haven’t gotten around to actually playing. Well – now my boyfriend has to make sure I’m actually working or doing my school work or else he’ll pry me away from the laptop.

I went and looked at different ways to play the sims because I love hearing or watching how others play. I noticed that there is an entire sims community that I had no idea existed. People have Instagram, Twitter, and Facebook accounts just for their sim creations. It was amazing to see all the different talents that go into creating sims. If only I had the patience to go into every little detail instead of picking a random sim to play with. It got me thinking, how much do people really love this game? The answer? A sh*t ton!

I thought this was interesting and had to share my thoughts.

Please stay tuned for my Halloween post which will include my family background and why I am so sensitive to the supernatural. (It will be a lengthy post!)

I know these have been short posts. I have been using my phone to write. However, now that I have a new computer, I will become more active! Thanks for reading!

If you play the sims, let me know what your favorite expansion is! I would love to know why that is. Have a great day/night.


Sometimes things happen that you can’t believe, and you start to wonder if it was even real in the first place…

As I said in my prior blogs, I will be sharing stories of things that have happened to me. Then on Halloween day – or night, I will share the scariest one yet. To better prepare you, for what’s to come, here is another encounter I would like to share.

I was sleeping in my room, and the layout was pretty simple. My door was closer to the right of the wall so my dresser was to the left of my door. I had a single window, and my bed lay right next to it. When walking into my room the bed is the first thing you would see, it was parrelle to the door. To the left of the entrance was my closet door. Now, usually when I slept my grandmother, mother, and brother would come in and out to see if I’m still sleeping or to make sure I was okay, so I was used to hearing footsteps. It wasn’t a big deal to me.

Having heard voices and all kinds of weird noises, I was a bit paranoid, and sometimes afraid, however I knew that these things didn’t touch me so I was okay. As long as they didn’t touch me, I always could escape.

I woke up to the sound of footsteps. They sounded like someone was wearing heavy boots, but I didn’t open my eyes to see who it was. In my mind it was either my brother or my uncle. My uncle barely stepped foot in my room unless he was looking to use my laptop or had a question about the television, which I didn’t mind too much. I like helping people. It was only really a bother if I was sleeping and he didn’t realize. As the footsteps got closer, I heard someone whisper “shhhhhh, shhhh, it’s okay.” At that point I somehow knew it was neither my uncle nor my brother. Even if it was, why whisper so creepily that it was okay? What was Okay? What were you planning?

I started to move around when I felt two big hands push their way under me and lift me. At that point I opened my eyes to see who dared to come touch me. I was in the air and as soon as my eyes opened, I fell back onto my bed. I could feel one of my earrings yank off and go flying somewhere, but when I glanced around no one was in my room. I didn’t even hear the footsteps of someone fleeing. Beginning to believe that it was a dream I got up ready to tell my mother. That’s when I realized I had been awake the entire time. I stepped on my earring when I reached the bedroom door, and when I picked it up I could hear a slight “shhh…” and without looking back I went right into my mother’s arms.

Ghost Girl

(UPDATE: As promised, the photos of my Barbie)

I played with my older brother a lot when I was younger. I even played with my cousins, who were around my same age – mostly boys. So it was no surprise that I was a tomboy. As I got older, I got more into dolls and girly things. My mother got me a life -sized Bridal Barbie. I was able to fit in her clothes, and is probably worth some money now and days. If only I didn’t lose her slippers and cut her hair into a bob. I even lost her fluff pads that go on the shoulders. She only sits in a closet with her worn out wedding dress. I guess she is waiting for Ken to come sweep her off her feet. That or, she misses the ghost girl…

My family is full of sensitive people. Most of my family sees it as a gift and they have alters where they do offerings and things like that, but not me. I see it as a curse. I try and block everything now that I am older. Don’t get me wrong, sometimes it’s fun. Other times it’s not. If you don’t know what you are doing, don’t do it. You’ll regret every second.

Last blog I posted, I spoke about my friend and our encounters in her home. It was all fun and games because I was with a friend! But what about when you’re alone?

My old home, before I moved from my nest, was somewhere in New Jersey (sorry I can’t say where). I had a small room, but it was perfect for me. I lived there since I was 8 years of age. I moved at age 26 (Yikes!). Not that there’s anything wrong with that, I just can’t believe I dealt with that for so long. Moving on! My room was cute and always a little messy. I’ve always suffered from night terrors and still do ’til this day. I’d hear scratching, knocking, footsteps, and even voices. I tried my best to play it off as my dreams. Then it happened…

Let’s go back to that Barbie, shall we? She was always on display in my room. She had her own corner and when people came over, it was requested that she would be turned away from them. They didn’t like her staring at them. They felt like she was watching. I didn’t mind. It was just an oversized doll. Maybe they had horrors of being married, I didn’t know. I didn’t care. She was mine and I liked her. What I didn’t know, was that she liked her too.

I had a ball in my room that would roll around on its own and I thought it was because of – my young logic – I was living in an apartment on the third floor and maybe the movement of the wind gently pressing the building made it move. I had an excuse for everything and so did my mother and grandmother. So it shouldn’t have surprised my when I heard someone singing in my closet while I was bouncing around the ball. That’s right! I heard a voice. I got closer but dare not answer the voice by opening the door. Instead, I put my good pal Barbie in front of it. Yup, I said “here Barbie, you can stand here from now on.”

While I never heard the singing again, I did see Barbie switch up her stance a few times. I’d leave for school and she is looking straight, but when I return she is looking towards my bedroom door, like she was waiting to see me. I’d push her head back to normal and go on about my day. Of course I told my mom…eventually. She went and asked my brother if he was touching it and of course the answer was no. My mom ended up getting me a lock for my door to test it out and to keep anyone from going in there without my permission. Since I was still young, she also had a copy of the key. The only people in or out were mother and me. I felt okay because it stopped for a while.

So now, 12 year old me is looking in the mirror that hung on the closet door doing my hair, while Barbie stood behind me and out of the way. I was able to see her because of the mirror and my porifiral vision. I was paying no mind to her when I heard something fall from inside my closet. It made the mirror shake and I thought I saw Barbie’s hair move as well, but again the mirror shook so I couldn’t be sure. When opening my closet, nothing was wrong so I sighed in annoyance and closed it. “Must be downstairs. They probably dropped something heavy.” When I looked back in the mirror to continue doing my hair, Barbie had her hand up. I quickly turned around and stared at her.

Now, why didn’t I just leave the room? Well, I began to question myself. Maybe I did leave her hand up like that. I just didn’t notice because it’s morning and I’m still tired. So, turning back around I see her arm in the mirror – yup! Her arm was placed down now. I then turn again, and it’s still down. “What in the world? Are you alive?” Not expecting a reply I here,

“I don’t think so. Not anymore.”

I bolted. Dropped my hair straightened and ran for my mother. I screamed about how Barbie was moving around and that she is creepy while my brother laughed at me and called me crazy. We then placed Barbie in that other closet I mentioned before. Where she sits, waiting for her Ken…

I will update this blog with her photo when I go visit my mother this weekend. Maybe she will appear next to Barbie, if we’re so lucky. Her and the man used to bother me…but he’s for another blog on another day.

Wednesday in October

Hello there!

It is the middle of the week, and we are slowly approaching halloween. I thought it would be fun to tell you guys and gals of an event that has happened to me in the past. Yes, it is a spooky one! I was saving it for the day of Halloween, but I have a bunch of phenomenons that have happened.

Let’s start with the least scary and work our way up come Halloween!

I was about 13 years old and sleeping over a friends house. She had told me that her home had been occupied by other things besides her family. I scoffed at the idea of there being an actual ghost in her home. Don’t get me wrong, I do believe in the after life, I just thought she was pulling my leg. You know? Sleep over silliness that goes on all the time. You try and freak out your guest so they stay awake longer and you can torture them with nonsense. Sounds fun, don’t it? Well, I was ready to play along.

We sat in front of a candle in her living room, and yes we were home alone. She had told me that she read somewhere “if a spirit is near, they will move the flame when you ask it a question”. Going into the kitchen and grabbing her mother’s lighter, she lit the candle and we sat. None of us said a word as we watched the flame stand still. The light was on so I jokingly told her to turn it off – she listened. When she sat back down she asked, “is anyone here?” The flame began to dance around, but I was not amused.

“It’s your breath when you speak. Plus you moved a bit so there’s that.” Rolling her eyes she placed her hand over her mouth and asked again. This time she moved away from the flame to make sure she did not disturb it. The flame danced a bit to the right and slowly stopped.

“If you are a boy move left. If you are a girl move right.” She asked. The flame moved to the left and a chill went up my spine, but it was still too hard to believe.

Her mother ended up coming home and asked what we were doing playing with a candle and to stop. She told us to go be normal and play with dolls or something. We thought it was funny because we knew she was only poking fun at us.

It must’ve been about 9pm, and we had just finished making her “My scene” Barbie dolls fight her “Bratz” dolls. I won’t say who won, but as we played the radio had been on. We were listening to z100. I remember it clear as day. One by one the dolls were being put back into place, and then a song came on we both knew. We started to sing along when the station suddenly changed. It kept changing rapidly from station to station, only allowing us to catch certain words and phrases. We freaked out a bit and ran to her bed.

“Its the ghost.” She squealed. I thought it was funny, even though I was about to pee my pants. She was laughing as well, but we both knew if we were alone we would be screaming for our mothers. “What do you want?” She asked. The radio skimmed a few stations and we caught, “help me get”. We were so stunned that we stood there. The radio went back to z100 and we decided to stop engaging for the rest of the night.

It happened a few more times and we got annoyed at that point. We were jamming out to our favorite song at the time and it changed we both got mad and said “Hey! Put that back!” And it did.

Since then more stuff has happened in that house to her, me, and other members of her family. Thankfully she moved to a different house since then.

Oh! By the way, we are still very close friends today. It was her birthday just a few days ago! Cheers to the birthday girl!

Happy Halloween!Her name is Destinee

From the confines of my mind

The world is a crazy place with some crazy ideas that just might work out in the end. I used to wonder how it felt to be blind, or to have one leg or arm. I wondered what it was like to not walk or speak. To not have a home or loved ones. I wondered why people had to suffer while others lived happy and free. I wondered why the rich never helped the poor. Then I got older…

There are people that have eyes that work, but can they really see what’s in front of them? Can they really look into the deepest part of your eyes and see who you really are? Sometimes the blind can see more than we ever dreamt. They know that beauty is not what you see, but what you feel when you are with someone. Not everyone knows that, and a lot of broken hearts ignite because of it.

Just because you are different from someone else or have more or less money does not make you any less happy. Happiness is a choice. You have to choose to be happy. You have to cut out everything that ever hurt you and fill that empty void with everything that makes you happy. Surround yourself with peace and love yourself. That is the key – not money.

The rich often do help the poor, and the media doesn’t want to show that. I learned that the media only shows 80% negativity and 20% positivity.

Growing up, I had a phobia of becoming fat. People saw how skinny I was and asked me if I was okay. I never understood why until I got older.

Today, I have a lot of diverse friends and family. I like to learn from different people. I even made it a point to date anyone that was not the same as me. I love learning how people think and why. I love hearing about their cultures and lives. I never understood why some battled about skin color and I don’t think I ever will.

Something that has haunted me for a long time was a teacher in grade 6. I never knew skin color was an issue until her…

A girl in my class was late. Her boyfriend walked her to class and she kissed him goodbye. The teacher, who had a look of disapproval said “What a time to be alive. My parents would have never let me do something like that.” The girl then replied that her mother knew she had a boyfriend. The teacher said, “Oh no, that’s not what I meant. I meant that you guys are allowed to go out with whoever you want.” We all stared at her in confusion. “He is different from you. He’s black and you’re Hispanic. Two different races and colors. I was only allowed to hang out and ate white people or I would get into trouble.” For the first time my class and myself started to look at our skin. It was like my eyes were opening up to a new world.

“But my family is all different colors…” I thought to myself. It bothered me so much that I went home and told my mother. She was angry and told me that the teacher was wrong for pointing that out. She said we are all human and the only thing that makes us different is how we think.

Now, I think a lot. I think about everything and anything. Sometimes my mind is scary, but I would never think to hate someone for how they look. I admire the difference in everyone’s beauty.


Her mind was overflowing with thoughts that she couldn’t control. She was so broken and so alone that her eyes were searching while her heart slowly died. Her brain could not comprehend the pain that she felt so it turned to remembering all the times she actually had a real smile. It made her heart not want to move on. It didn’t want to beat anymore because its song would never be the same. The knife was inside and locked tight.

Her eyes searched as much as they could. The people that surrounded her were once people she knew or wanted to know, and now they were strangers she wished she never saw again. She didn’t want excuses nor did she want to start a fight because she KNEW she was not the wrong one. She KNEW that she should get more out of this, but never will. She KNEW she would continue to be beaten over and over again because her brain couldn’t handle the fact that her heart refused to feel and her eyes could not find a single soul that could help.

It was breaking her down to the point where she was lost. She didn’t know who she was anymore. She knew she wasn’t loved by him the way she thought she was and the pressure of not being able to find a home before November was crushing her. The pain she tried to hide made her chest heavy. She couldn’t breathe and she couldn’t speak. She felt like she was nothing. She was gone. The pressure of school and work was also getting to her. She was becoming a former shell of who she once was. Every color disappeared. Hell – she couldn’t even see black and white. She was blind. Blinded by so many emotions and trauma.

“Let me start a blog. Maybe if I write about what I love, I can forget this pain. I can find my escape!” She thought to herself. “I love rainbows! I’ll post the flowers I got and make the site inviting!” She thought of all the things she couldn’t wait to write about. She even wrote that she will be updating her blog every Wednesday – but she didn’t. The blog didn’t save her, and she didn’t understand. She was doing what she loved! She was writing! What was still wrong? The answer: Her core.

The added stress of her grandparents being in Puerto Rico and not having any contact with them was also hurting her. She would cry and cry every night and every morning when she was alone. On the days that she wasn’t alone, she had to just keep it in until the end of the week when she belted it all out. It all came out only so she could get yelled at. She doesn’t feel loved. She doesn’t feel a damn thing…

It sucks when people give their all and it doesn’t seem to work. However, for some reason….she wants to keep going. Her life doesn’t make any sense and she can’t save herself…but maybe she could save someone else…

In staying alive and positive you can become stronger and you can become a better person. Scars will eventually fade. She will wait until the day that hers are gone for good and she could feel again.

I didn’t want it: An Asthma Story

Let me start by saying, I have not written for a while. I haven’t written because there was a storm happening both mentally and physically inside of me. A storm I tried to hide. It started to brew because of insecurities. It started to brew because of anxiety. The pot was boiling and every day doubt and stress was added to the ingredients.

There was a lingering sensation of something…I couldn’t put my finger on it. Like a shadow that wasn’t as friendly as Peter Pans. A taunting entity that was in no mood to play childish games. Something was amiss and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t quite grasp what was happening to me.

As more storm clouds came rolling in, and the thunder lashed out at me from all directions – I was stricken! Attacked by the lightening inside of me. Attacked by the way things fell around me, I was spinning so fast trying to comprehend everything around me – I forgot how to balance. I forgot who I was! I tried everything in my power to kill who I was and in reality I was killing who I am.

My breath stopped! My breath escaped and for that moment that felt like seconds – I saw her! My great grandmother. She watched me and took me into her arms. Tears just running down stream, she patted my head. She told me to forgive myself. To forgive myself for the hate I put inside of me. Forgive myself for the pain I put myself through. Forgive myself for everything negative in my life because it wasn’t my fault nor my place to treat myself the way I did. I stared in awe because she passed away in 2009. Not a lick of English came out of her when she was living so I was in awe that I understood her.

For a moment – a burst of light came to me and I was awake, sobbing once again. My breath escaped me another instant and I was back in nothingness. This time – she wasn’t there. I was alone and somehow so peaceful. I didn’t want it. I didn’t want life. I didn’t want to become a person again. I wanted to stay alone, and I wanted to just float away. Then another burst of air and I was back. I was here in this world. I was awake.

Crying my eyes out – the man I love said “I wasn’t going to let you go.” Over his voice I heard, “No, I wasn’t either…” To me a shock, almost. like a bolt of lightening hit me. I am here. Why? Because I am not finished with my story of who I am.

My asthma is not the best at time, but I will always have my angel with me.

R.I.P. Great Grandma (1914-2009). I love you and miss you! ❤

Silent Speaker: Introvert

This topic is a very tricky one to talk about. An introvert is defined as “a shy, reticent person” (Google Dictionary, 2017). There are many different ways to describe what an introvert is, but the most mistaken thing to say is that we are antisocial. There is a difference between not speaking and being antisocial.

If you are antisocial – you are choosing not to speak with anyone. If you do not speak – maybe you don’t feel as though your words will contribute to the conversation. For me, I don’t speak much because I am scared. I am terrified of others and what their thoughts are of me, but at the same time, I would love to know. My mind is constantly racing with these thoughts and ideas but I never share – why? Fear holds me back and then I am judged for it. It takes a lot for me to even open up to someone.

When I meet new people the first thing they say to me is “you’re so quiet” or “I bet you would be the first one to kill someone. It’s always the quiet ones” (I’m quite sick of that joke to be honest). Other times I get these strange looks, and then people whisper amongst themselves. Later I find out from a friend that I’ve made them feel uncomfortable because I “had an attitude” or because I was “too quiet”. What irritates me is that they didm’t even bother to try and understand why I was quiet. When I try to actually speak to someone so they no longer think I am some weird girl, my words come out all awkward.

I promise I am a nice person and I treat my friends like family – but if you are not good with patience, then this will not work out.

Apparently, I also have “resting bitch face”, which is often described as a face filled with anger or attitude. I constantly have this face when I am thinking or tired. Even when I am just sitting there – bitch face activated! As a result I am constantly over thinking about my facial expressions. This causes me to make silly faces all day and sometimes people will look at me and start to giggle. It gets me more enraged and annoyed because I don’t know what anyone wants me to look like anymore. I can’t win! I am defeated each time I go outside!

Because no one wants to willingly come over to me and start talking about simple things in life – I am the bad one. I can’t mentally or physically start sharing my life goals and aspirations with someone I’ve only known for a week – even a month! I have to know you longer than that. People constantly judge me and it used to drain my energy so much.

I had people that knew me pushing me closer and closer to the edge. I felt like they were forcing me to jump into someone new. Someone that wasn’t me. I was expected to just be social 24/7 with strangers who assumed things about me just by the way I spoke. I was in a constant state of panic and my body would shiver in fear. I was bullied and was just tossed about like a basketball, only I never found the hoop.

I found a voice in writing and as I got older I began to speak more. Even today, 8/24/2017, I was criticized for begin tired at a concert. I didn’t want to stand because I saw no need. I don’t need to stand to enjoy music. I had a perfect view of the screen and everything, but somehow I made people uncomfortable. For that we blame that “bitch face”. The music wasn’t even anything to rock out to. It was music to move your soul softly. I didn’t need to stand and bang my head around.

This is my journey of how I deal with these types of things. I will go more into depth with topics like these in my future blogs. This is just a taste of who I am or how I think. I do hope I didn’t offend anyone in the use of language. I promise I do not curse in my writings, I had no other way to explain my face. If you have suggestions please let me know.

Cheers to my first blog post!

(Photo taken by me. Flowers were a gift to me. Aren’t they super cool?)