Year 6 (Week 312)[78 Months]

You're looking at Aurora's new merchandising ASM ☺️

So, hey, Zach's an ASM now! (ASM is an acronym for "assistant store manager".) I'm so proud of him, too. He was working as a department supervisor/floater at the Bellevue store just a couple of blocks down from our flat, but now he's the new merchandising ASM for the Aurora store in north Seattle. Zach is such an unbelievably hard worker with a great work ethic, and I told him upon moving to the PNW, that within a year, he would become an ASM. And I was right. ^_^

The South just didn't like us, so we bailed. Sorry, not sorry, I suppose. #SeeYa

Posing with a Homer Award and Designer of the month badge for October at my desk

And, of course, this girl didn't apply herself to that plan of action. My mother didn't like that, and my father just didn't give a shit — to the point that he slammed my head into the corner of my mother's piano because I rebelled against his view (on something stupid, I'm sure). But still, you don't violently attack your own child. I was told by my religious mother to lie and say I tripped into the corner of the door frame; I still have a scar above the corner of my right eye from this (and I have never publicly spoken about this.)

Now, I will admit my mother did briefly attempt to get me to learn to play the piano around the age of 10. But that's mainly because she played piano, so why not pass along that trait? I didn't care for piano, though, because it was something she wanted me to do — it wasn't a goal I wanted or liked (my mother's side of the family are all musically inclined people; as am I.)

I had a fight with my father one night during my early 20s when I was trying everything under the sun based on my financial standing and location to become a songwriter/musician. At this point, I had already started going to college (I began the same time as my younger brother), and this fight culminated with my father telling me I'm just average and that I'll never amount to anything (as a singer/songwriter.)

Of course, this pissed me off to the nth degree, and it only fuelled my passion even further. Remember the blog post from way back discussing why I wanted to become a successful singer/songwriter? Yeah, I wasn't about to have someone tell me I couldn't succeed and have my plans thwarted to become my real self. And sure, both of my parents came to all of my music shows I played at, but I never really felt appreciated or urged to do more; to be more. Nor did my older sister, whom I looked up to as a singer, ever encourage or support my abilities.

All of my talents, I taught myself. Be it singing, reading music, playing guitar, mandolin, and yes, piano (LOLs), it was all me. I, of course, thank all of my wonderful college professors and instructors for the creative edge they taught me in design and photography — Curtis and Dr. Z are two really rad people, especially. Thank you for the skills, gentlemen. I'm super appreciative.

Number 1 overall (and in sales, measures, and leads), and I don't plan to let up. 😉

But I'm nowhere near being average. I'm a seriously talented individual who's not going to be held back any longer by the restraints of a family that doesn't care. And that leads me to this next event...

For the past year, I've been reaching out to my mother via text messages to show her all of these wonderful accolades and triumphs I've achieved since becoming a kitchen designer at the Redmond HD. I get silence. I get no response. During September, I finally received a text from my mother, randomly, that stated, "Someone is praying for you." I knew what this message meant, though. It had nothing to do with my achievements, nothing to do with all of these newly acquired goals, but instead, it had to do with 29 January 2015. I was getting preached at again, and I don't care for that nonsense. I ignored it, and kept texting her about all of the positives taking place in my life; wishing for her to be a part of it in the process.

Zach got me this snazzy dress for Christmas; and of course I tried to share the joy with my mother :/

So, fast-forward to exactly two weeks ago, and our store was having a walk with upper management — our regional vice president and district manager were in for a visit. I became my district's December designer of the month (second time in three months, mind you), and I was certain he wanted to speak with me. After all, our D29 kitchen design department is kicking all kinds of arse right now (also due to Aseel and Ruchi's great work). Our RVP, Shawn, awarded me with a RVP medal, gift card, and my SASM and specialty DH presented me with another award as well.

From left: Specialty DH Dave, RVP Shawn, me!, and DM Ken (District 19 is BEST district)

I shared this excitement with my mother, as I've been wont to do, and once more, I get silence. No response. Nothing.

I had enough. This was it. This was the line that finally forced my hand. I responded back:

I even broke a connection with a lifelong, childhood friend recently as well because of similar re-treads. I no longer have room in my life for the negativity or absurdity that surrounds their world views. I can't do it. I refuse to be immersed in it. It's one of the main reasons for moving out of the South and into an area where progressive values flourish.

The cool kids.

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This has been a fairly long blog entry, and I apologise for that. But I've just had a lot on my plate lately with my own family being poo poo heads with an insurrection that took place in the midst of a viral pandemic that most Americans won't take seriously (thankfully, most do here in the Seattle area).

Ty being a sleepy head 🥰

As always, be good. Do good. Love. (And happy six years, Anna.) ❤️🧡💛💚💙💜