My Family - Original Writing

Seven years earlier, I migrated to Hawaii when I was twenty-three. I had flown away from my mother and my life in the Philippines. Like young adults and being rebellious, I wanted to live on my own away from my mother 's roof. I left the city life I grew up with in the Philippines in hope of a better life in another country.

Or was it the voices in my head. By now she had gotten used to hearing them. The most prevalent ones were the sound of a child giggling and the soft whisper of “Mommy.” That has haunted her many times over the past year.

Ever since I was a young boy, my family would pile into our old 15-passenger van and drive to church each and every Sunday, without fail. I didn't really understand it at first, it was just something I had to do. When I was around 6 years old, my mother encouraged me to accept Jesus Christ as my lord and savior. I hardly understood what it meant, but I went through with it, much to my mother’s excitement. Years passed, and my understanding grew. Up until I was around 13 years old, my faith had no correlation to my actions. I could recite bible verses for hours, yet I couldn't say what any of them meant. That all changed one year at Camp Selah, a Then, in the year 2014, my faith took a turn for the worst. I’d had a testing first year of high

"When we were little, you used to do that. Pretend you were sleeping, and couldn't hear me. It didn't work then, and it certainly won't work now." Said the voice. "I have gone though so much, and I have a lot to tell you, so just listen."

The voice said, 'I will not die. I refuse it. I will make it through this nightmare. I will beat the odds, as great as they are. I have survived so far, miraculously.

Alex stated “I’ve heard voices constantly since I was about 18 or 19. The voices I hear are kind of distant. Sometimes I can’t make out what they are saying but most of the time the voices are negative. The voices really messed

I was raised in an Apostolic Pentecostal church. Not a Sunday, Wednesday, worship practice, decorating meeting, or special event was missed. Each year I was a part of the drama team and reenacted the birth, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ for hundreds of people. I received the gift of speaking in tongues when I was seven, and was baptized a few months after. Every Bible story was carved into memory, verses memorized so adamant I was part of the competitive Bible Quizzing team. Suddenly when I was eleven, my family made the decision to leave the only place I’d ever encountered the presence of God. We then moved away from the city and were left with no church to turn to. It wasn’t until I started attending Oasis church that I reclaimed

In August of 2001, I gave my life over to God and gave up my selfishly sinful ways. I recall this memory very vividly. I was sitting in the back row of the chapel with my arms crossed and a hardened look on my face like Popeye the sailor man. The friends I had found were just like me, trying their hardest to please the staff, follow the rules and get out of this program and back into the real world. But something miraculous happened. I suddenly realized I was a sinner and living a life full of multiple defense mechanisms was going to get me nowhere. I wanted the love of Christ and was thereby freed from the chains of self-pity and unworthiness.

The small voice still bothered me for about an hour. I kept tossing and turning, trying to get rid of it. Unfortunately, that was a complete useless. I sat up, ruffling my hair, pondering about the tiny voice telling me to run.

468). After spending some time in a jail cell, I began to realize that God had a better plan for me. God sent one of His messengers to see me while I was detained. This messenger assisted me in replanting my feet upon the Rock of my salvation. After being released from the arms of the courts, I began to reassess who I was and where I was headed. I selected for my community service to be completed over at the church that I would later attend with my wife. After completing the necessary community service acts, I started to read the Bible intently and began praying for God’s comfort and direction. I felt compelled to later share this story with God’s messenger over at the church where he led the College and Twenty Somethings Group. When I expounded on my experience while being retained in jail, I let the pastor know that he was the one who assisted God in bringing me back to where I felt safe and alive. The pastor responded back in an email letting me know just how blessed he was to be one of God’s servants that brought one of His back into His presence. In the letter, I let the pastor know that I had been hit by numerous pine boards and one too many railroad ties until I realized that God had been knocking at my door the entire time. I felt as if I had been reborn into His presence, and a few months later, I decided to get baptized. I registered to be baptized with the same church where I had finished my community service

I looked closely at the gloomy spot where the voice was coming from, it was right beneath the window where the moon reflects from. Looking closely at the shadow, reluctantly, I took the very first step to discovering what I'm about to unfold. Drawing close to the darkness, I asked in a still voice, "who are you?" Clearing my throat in an attempt to hide my fear of the unseen dilemma before me, Stammering, "wha what do you want?" I asked again. All I could hear was the voice of a woman sobbing. "Is she dying?" I thought to myself. And Before I was able to process an answer, a hand grabbed me by the arm from behind, and in fear, I glance back to look at the person behind me, but whoever it was had

It was cold. I woke up trying to free myself from the metal brace. I screamed for help merely hearing an echo from the damp air. I searched in the darkness for a way out, when all of a sudden a flash of light appeared. I tried to find the source when a familiar voice called out,

During my mother’s childhood, she would walk or bike half a mile on dirt roads in the humid Cuban heat to return home from school. After coming home tired from school, she would help her mother make endless batches of Cuban pastries to sell. In addition to preparing desserts, my mother would help finish sewing the clothes her mother made. My mother had sewn so much that her hands were stiff from all the sewing. Her mother could only maintain her two children by selling desserts and clothes,since her father was imprisoned for political reasons. My grandmother never finished elementary school, so she struggled to obtain a job. Through my mother working hard alongside her mother, my mom grew a longing to seek a better way to earn a living when she grew up. She desired to assist her family get out of the harsh economic conditions and improve their lifestyle.

I lived in a neighborhood called Shadowbay in a small town called Willis, Texas. I lived there for twelve years, it was all I ever knew. My parents got divorced right after I was born and I lived with my mom and my two sisters. My mom was tall and skinny with tan skin, dark brown eyes and long brown hair. I felt like I never really knew her growing up though because she worked often. I was always left with my two sisters and occasionally with one of my mom’s many boyfriends. I was the youngest of my sisters. Eventually my mom found a decent man. His name was Steve and he was tall, built, bald and covered in tattoos. I would be afraid if I saw him on the street but I knew him and he was the first decent man my mom had ever brought home.

When anyone thinks of a perfect family photo, they imagine a family with fancy clothing, a bright sunny day, green grass and faces that have been enhanced. When my family takes photos they are not quite that picture perfect family that’s advertise but a family that goes deeper than perfection.