Monday. January 07th,

I love the number 7.

At 7 years old, you’re no longer this naive wide eyed kindergartener. You’ve been doing this “school” thing for about 2 years now, maybe even more. You’ve gotten accustomed to the routine of things. At 7 years old, you become more aware. Aware that you actually live on a planet with other people, you start realizing that theres a world happening all around you. You begin to realize and understand that your behaviors have consequences. It’s the beginning of the de-fluff-er-ing of the cloud that you’ve been sitting so comfortably and safely on before, before you turned 7. *dun dun dun *

I’ve loved the number 7, ever since my 7th Birthday. My mother, a single mother (my father was around, ummmmm different post), who worked two jobs and worked the night before; decided to take my friends and I to ‘Fun-Time-USA’ on one of the hottest days in August. Typical behavior of my madré, ultimate self-sacrificer. Something I realized at age 7.

I loved the number 7, ever since 2nd grade. When Mrs. Rammouth was my second grade teacher. Even though it took me a whole year to get over her musty smell and old school Trinidadian ways. She would end up being my favorite teacher that had the biggest impact on me, on the scholar I became. Because of Mrs. Rammouth, I became a second grade teacher. I still think about her, some days. I wish you the best Mrs. Rammouth, the absolute best, wherever you are. And, I hope the universe has blessed you with the strength and resilience to continue changing the lives of the 7 year olds who enter and leave your classroom; even today, in 2019. Every little black girl should have you as a teacher, your love went beyond the classroom, beyond just being a teacher. From 7:40 am- 2:10 pm, every day that year and the years to follow. You were my mother, my grandmother, my aunt, and my nosey next door neighbor. You have had a hand in the woman I am today. Thank You. I can honestly say, I loved you Mrs. Rammouth and LOVE you more today.

I loved the number 7 ever since I met Oshane, who too was 7 years old. My first official crush. The first boy to actually like me back. Oh Oshane, how I use to write your name all over the composition notebooks my mother said not to waste..Mrs.Brown, Mrs. K Brown, Mrs. OShane Brown. I loved you, you and the gap in your mouth that could fit my entire pinky. At 7 years old, all I could think about were those chinky light brown eyes, that always seemed lost during Mrs.Rammouth reading lessons. At 7, I learned what it meant to want something, want someone. To want someone in a way I never really wanted someone else before. Not in the way I wanted my mother, or my bff. At 7, I learned what it meant to want to give someone a piece of you, in hopes they would want to give you a piece of them. For 7 year olds, this usually mean giving your candy away, not snitching when the teacher ask “who”did it. You know damn well “who”. Your “who” did it. But you love him, so you can’t be the reason why he loses recess. At 7 years old, I became a hopeless romantic. Nope, a stupid romantic.

I loved the number 7, because once I turned 8, everything change.

I love the number 7, because it will always remind me of the last year before everything changed.

It reminds me of the years where my mother use to smile whole-heartedly,

It reminds of the last year I had trust.

It reminds me of the year before I understood what betrayal meant,

It reminds me of my last year of just being a care-free kid.

The year before I got too serious,

Age 7, represents the Kat I was meant to be. The Kat that got lost during age 8, when there was too much shit happening for a small brain to process and understand.

So while 7 was an amazing year, filled with awareness and awakening. It also represented my last “official” year in childhood.

***It sucks because this piece was meant to be reflective…now it just has me sad in this coffee shop. But I can’t tear up. Not because I’m too strong to cry, but because the owner of this coffee shop kind of pissed me off, so I gotta keep a straight face, because I have plans on being a petty bitch when I leave =)***

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