There Is More To Me Than What I Eat And Drink As An Adult

There Is More To Me Than What I Eat And Drink As An Adult

They don't makeup who Maggie is as a person.

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So I am one that likes a good marg and some chips/queso from time to time not gonna lie. But there is more to me than just that and I am not defined by what I choose to eat and drink in my life. Of course, it enhances my life a little bit but there are a personality and people behind the scenes of it all, just in case you were wondering.

My personality is a pretty unique one because it is lively with all the goes on. I'd like to think that my personality allows me to not have much of a filter sometimes, which is good for the most part I think. I do think that my personality allows me to be a leader when in a group setting, and I honestly wouldn't have it any other way. I like to take charge and I like to keep up conversations sometimes, but I guess can see how that might come off as too strong if their personality doesn't mix with mine (I'm sorry, not sorry).

The people in my life mean the world to me and I literally don't know what I'd do without them. To my Michigan fam, I'll love you forever and forever. Same goes with my family that is here in Georgia, one of the reasons why I do what I do when it comes to writing these articles. There isn't a moment that goes by that I don't think about how my friends or family. There is never a dull moment when I'm with Y'all, and I will always cherish the moments I have spent.

To God, I do consider you a part of my life, whether we meet at Kennedy Chapel or Prince of Peace, I know that we have a relationship. There isn't a crazy day of mine that you don't come to mind. Thank you for putting up with my crazy before I actually go crazy, you are mostly to thank.

To reiterate, I do love my margs and the memories that come with having them but the margs don't makeup who Maggie is as a person. I think that there is more in life for me to discover on my journey and with my support squad, I will be able to do anything. I hope that as you have read through this that you have laughed or related to it in some form. Let me know in the comments below what your thoughts are!

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If You Own 6 Of These 10 Brands, You Are 100 Percent Basic

How basic are you?

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akumari
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For every brand you own, give yourself a point.

5. The North Face Bookbag

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6. Patagonia

Patagaonia Jacket

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7. Hunter Rainboots

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9. Nike Shorts (NORTS)

What was your score? Are you truly basic or not? If you are BASIC embrace that, who cares what anyone thinks! If you aren't basic, well then you are clearly embracing your style and thriving! Meanwhile, the rest of us are BASIC as can be and we love it!

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Fiction: Whitewashed

In a world where racial roles are reversed, a white girl experiences what it's like to be a person of color.

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

This piece is inspired by photographer Chris Buck's "Let's Talk About Race" photo essay in O, The Oprah Magazine's May 2017 issue.

The white girl woke up to the sunlight streaming from her window and the distant noises of the television in the background. As she got ready for the long day ahead of her, she reached for her makeup and found her favorite concealer — but discovered, to her dismay, that the container of pale, eggshell-colored liquid was empty. Sighing, she added a mental note to buy more concealer this evening, if she could find the right shade.

As the girl headed down the stairs, the distant noises of the TV became louder and clearer. "Shooting Of White, Unarmed Man By Black Police Officer," blasted the headline. As the newscaster detailed the events of the shooting, the girl felt angry and frustrated. How long would it take, how many shootings before everyone realized that these were not coincidences or mistakes, and that these shootings were a result of preconceived notions about race?

The girl felt a sudden wave of sickness. Without eating breakfast, she headed straight for her car. The radio was on and was describing the shooting of the white male in extreme detail. The girl, her light-colored fingers gripping the steering wheel so that they appeared even whiter, could barely summon the energy to switch the radio knob off.

The girl barely managed the one-hour drive it took to get to her day job at a nail salon. As she entered the shop, she could see the beginnings of a long day — groups of Asian women, clutching their phones to their ears or gossiping to other Asian women in Vietnamese, cluttered the salon and waited for their nails to be done.

The owner of the nail salon, a short, middle-aged white man, greeted the girl. His eyes seemed sad, as if he had also heard the news about the police shooting. He directed her towards her first customer, a Chinese woman who looked like she drove an SUV and had three all-star athletic children. As the girl approached, the woman didn't even acknowledge her; instead, she seemed to be arguing in Cantonese on her phone.

The girl cycled through five customers before her lunch break. She moved to the back corner and opened her lunch box, which contained potato salad and half of a broccoli casserole. As she was digging into her food, she noticed a Vietnamese woman sniffing the air. The woman wrinkled her nose, leaned over to her friend and asked in a loud whisper, "What is that smell?"

The girl was embarrassed, but this wasn't the first time this had happened. She had brought some meatloaf a few weeks ago, and all the customers had stared at her until she moved into the back room of the salon.

After her lunch break, the girl went back to the endless stream of women needing their nails done. Finally, the clock chimed nine o'clock, the final few customers left and the girl was free to leave.

Remembering her promise earlier to buy some more concealer, the girl decided a quick stop to the local drugstore was necessary. She browsed through the aisles, but she couldn't seem to find her perfect shade. Instead, there were rows and rows of brown, yellow and black foundation, but almost no white or lighter-colored makeup. The ones that were closer to white were still too tan and dark for the girl's pale, creamy skin.

As the girl was reminiscing on her bad fortune, she caught ear of an argument a few aisles next to her. "Why are you speaking English? We're in America. There's no official language."

The girl peered over and saw a Hispanic man confronting a white man. The Hispanic man continued on: "Why did your ancestors come over here, two hundred years ago? I mean, you weren't welcome, and you aren't now either. The native Americans should have built a wall to keep you criminals and scoundrels out." With that said, the Hispanic man left the white man in the dust, gaping.

As the white girl drove home, she couldn't stop thinking about the unfairness of the world. Why did she have to live in a world where her every action, her every thought was dictated by the color of her skin? Why did she have to live in a world where preconceived notions of race played the biggest part in determining the future of an individual? Why did she have to live in a world where the phrase "equality and justice for all" were merely words every schoolchild said every morning and then promptly forgot? Why did she live in a world where her status in life and how others perceived her were all based on something that she couldn't control?

In no way is this fiction piece meant to offend or anger anyone. This piece was written solely to open the eyes and minds of everyone, white and non-white, to the struggles people of color face every day, because only through open minds and hearts can we progress as a society.


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