I Got my Degree and Got Out of the Ghetto
The circumstances didn’t keep me from my potential
My parents always insisted that I get my degree. It was their one rule in the house.
“Study whatever you want”, they said. “but you have to earn your degree to become a better person.”
School was hard. I had to study in certain circumstances that would have discouraged anyone from pursuing a degree. My parents’ marriage was falling apart and I had to be mature at 10 years old. I went to magnet school. I got good grades. I took honors classes in high school, and graduated with my bachelor’s degree in Mass Communication and Journalism because I wanted to become a writer. I also took digital marketing courses online and learned a lot of research to market my writing.
Writing has always been a part of my life. I have piles and piles of notebooks from my childhood documenting everyone I experienced. When I find paper I’m writing. I speak four languages, I compose music, and photograph my surroundings even with a small broken pencil if I have none around. I love to take my digital camera and camera phone with me everywhere I’m case I never have to miss an opportunity to write about it later. My camera phone is full of novelties that I photographed to scroll through later to recall memories of wonderful discount deals that everyone marvels over in envy. I never realized it was a thing before until I noticed how many compliments I got on some of the unique deals I bought for myself out of mere pleasure.
I still have so much time left to finish my graduate degree. I’m already half way through my masters degree. I wanted to take photos that would compliment my articles. So, I got into Black and White fine Art Street Photography and began to create a portfolio on Instagram of my work. I’ve already been invited to showcase in two of the museums in my hometown, and have yet to make friends with journalists and publications to market my work for a do-follow link back to my page.
It’s been a long journey. I wouldn’t have been able to do it without the prayers and well wishes of my parents. The encouragement from close friends, yet the wonderful moments with love filled life lessons despite the heart wrenching experiences that nearly took my life.
I studied despite growing up in the ghetto. Even though my parents over-protected, me they meant well. I know they did. And even if I never get to write another word in ink again, I’d continue to write them on napkins if I had to document memorable moments in my heart. Thank you Dad for never giving up on me. Thank you Jesus for hearing their prayers, and mine as well. I’m here — I’m still here. ☺
