By Kellye Elizabeth Beathea
Who are you? I think this is the most important question that we as human beings --- African-Americans in particular --- must answer, but we don't even know how to approach this question. At least I know I don't. I don't think I can answer this question properly, because the links to my personal past have been permanently severed. But I will try...
I'm Kellye Elizabeth Beathea. My life consists of college, church, family, and friends. These four aspects of my life bring out pieces of me that I am just beginning to discover.
My best friend Rebecca once pointed out that I was a "really good writer." I never considered myself a bad writer, but I never thought of my writing as anything special; I just did it. I don't really like writing. I feel that once my thoughts are on paper, they no longer belong to me. On the other hand, if the thought I have is detrimental to my health, then it must come out of me. I happen to find that writing is more effective, and less criminal than beating someone to a bloody pulp --- and I'm only half-kidding.
My friends Nicole and Veronique both say that I'm extremely funny, although I have yet to figure out why they think this. I admit, I have my funny moments, but sometimes, I'll just say or do something that was on my mind, and those two will be on the verge of crying in laughter --- at my expense! Apparently my thoughts contain some humor. I promise it's not intentional; it just happens.
My mom thinks that I am beautiful... and slowly but surely, I am seeing what she sees in me that is beautiful. My facial bone structure is amazing; I have awesome hair that I can do virtually anything with; I have curves in all the right places. I also have a beautiful spirit, one that can see the good in people no matter how hidden it is to that person. Even though I am writing this down I don't fully believe this for myself yet, but I know I'm going to, because every time I talk myself about it, I believe it a little bit more than the last time.
But who do I think I am? When trying to answer this question, I always think of the saying, "This is me: take it or leave it." This saying always frustrated me, because I never knew which part of me they would take or leave; can someone even take a part of you without your permission? And if they did in fact take a piece of me, then why, and what were they going to do with it?
Assuming that they could take a piece of me and get away with it, I hope that the piece would be my appreciation, but not my love of music. Like my mom, I started singing before I started talking. It's how I communicate with myself; it's how the members of my family communicate with each other. I will listen to any genre of music at least once, just to become familiar (maybe fall in love) with it. Every feeling I have correlates with a type of music. Nearly every memory I have is associated with a song that I heard or sang during that point in time. To take away my music would be equivalent to erasing my memories.
They should take the compassion I have for children; in fact, I would give this part of myself to the negligent fathers in particular. I don't understand how they can dislike children, when they at one point were children themselves. Furthermore, why are they putting themselves in the situation where the possibility of having a child is inevitable and they never did and never will plan on having one? Children are beautiful, pure souls, and all they want is your undivided love and attention. I know what it is like to not feel wanted or even loved by the person who helped bring you into this world (I'm not talking about the mother), and the wounds that follow don't ever fully heal. I have to resist picking at that scab every day.
But what would I have left of me after they have picked at me? I would have my ability to think thoroughly. I never could leave ‘well enough' alone; I need to know and learn about all of my surroundings. To some of my friends it is irksome, because I will constantly ask them questions about whatever they are talking about. They call it "being nosey," I call it "being myself." I'm genuinely intrigued by how people live, and why they make the choices they make. That's why I crave reporting. Not only do I get to learn about people's lifestyles, but if it's interesting enough, I get to teach the world about it. When I become a professional reporter (maybe sooner), the world will learn as I learn!
I would also have my creativity. I like to make things, be it a gown design, a poem, or even a sculpture. I love seeing something come to life by my hands; it makes me feel useful. It also ties in with my thorough thinking; I have to think about what I create and execute it properly.
Who am I? I am all of these things explained here, and then some. I am a woman, and I am here because 18 years ago another strong, beautiful woman prayed for my existence. It is my duty by just existing to make the most of my existence, which is doing all that I can do to help my fellow woman (and man).