Why a tree, a bear, and a belt?

Hello there and welcome to my virtual abode!

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       My name is Almavida (which I am behooved to relay) means Soul and Life in Spanish, not for the conceited reasons of holding a compact before the vanity, but because I felt for a mighty long time that my very own name heckled me with irony.  Hence, if you are not afraid to get mud splashed on your jeans, traverse alongside me as your docent in my name’s sanitary process.

We all know there is such a thing as picturesque…appealing jawlines, skinny waistlines, bubble butts, clown face, Claymation hair, fanciful ensembles, wall to wall smiles, sporting white Chiclets for teeth and muscles for days!  These perfect people raise champagne glasses toward the camera, while lofty furniture and expensive décor dazzle deluxe in the background. However, with keen eyes one can see pinholes, but in my case, manholes.  As a neoblogger, I believe that commonality begets reverence and compassion and smothers loneliness.  Therefore, I will undress all the parts and pieces of my own picturesque to simply reveal, that.. “Nobody really got it goin’ on! And so plainly…”Let’s not fake the funk, in this all-human affair.”

     As a child, I was given a runt stamp, non-verbally through extended relatives, as well as through paternal words and actions.  I was a literal lump on a log, living in my older brother and sister’s sterling and colossal shadows.  When I became a mother, many years down the line, I discovered that I was a product of an affair and the treatment I received, was indeed a ziplined consequence of my mother’s iniquity.  This is not to throw my mother under the bus, as I also repeated wearing the ugly Scarlet Letter A, abandoned my own children and crumpled it all.  Living in a pickled jar of deceit as En Vogue’s track, Lies loudly played in the sour, was me.  A forbidden child, whose value and voice was overlooked and shunned. I became a mascot for Johnny Lee’s chantey, Lookin’ For Love.  The emotional negligence devoured me. In my twenties and beyond, I began scouring premises for men like a talent scout, except they were only to perform being ‘bed in the bags’ as their skill set.  This was equivalent to love and self-worth.  But the hopping and sprinting from dude to dude, desperately looking to be filled with love, ultimately flung me into being homeless, pregnant, and abandoned. Discarded by Men.  Majestically, Abba’s quick and merciful hands yanked and plopped me into HIS papoose of direction, and those ways are now, gratefully, behind.

      Many shiny and vivacious achievements have happened since that markedly macabre time. However, jagged remnants of insecurity, emptiness and self-doubt still make my mind and emotions churn wildly!  Therefore, some compositions in this blog will be oxymorons in singularity or of one another, as beautifully written snapshots of a once tormented soul.  Others will be served with fictitious characters funneling spiritual messages toward you.  Although, the pure torment of my soul is surpassed, there is still pain in the movement. This blog is for all those who have experienced Abba’s immense miracles, still stutter in their faith, but sincerely know that motion towards the Master is still the only way to go (Matthew 7: 13-14).  Today, I stand as a closer representation to what my name means after this sanitary process. My name is now beige instead of fudge brown, and I’ve got a ways to go to get to bleached! BUT…  I still won’t slow because I am Soul and Life. Please join me in the examination and celebration of both human strength, frailty, and all things in between, within my writing galleries.