First Post

Hey,

I know for a fact that no one is going to read this in the near future - within the next few days - because no one knows that I am in fact beginning to write a blog about my boring and predictable life. About fifteen minutes ago, I finished Julie and Julia, an amazing movie might I add, and I began to wonder what it would be like to write a blog. I decided right then and there that I would do it; I would write a blog, just like Julie Powell did in the movie, though it won't be about cooking. This blog will be all about me and my life.

As I have said, my life is boring and predictable so don't expect anything special from it. The most you'll get at times is me complaining about my family and once in awhile my friends, but even then it'll be teenage stuff, as I am currently a teenager living in the not-so-exciting city known as Edmonton, Alberta.

I was born here, in Edmonton, on November 8, 1994 at the Grey Nuns Hospital. On that day, my mother's water broke, obviously, and instead of being panicky and distressed, she slowly got out of bed and took a shower. Only once that shower was done did she announce to my father that it was time to go the hospital. They dropped my brother, who was six at the time, to my uncle's house and continued to the hospital. And two hours later I was officially in the world.

My parents didn't know what to name me. They had picked some names out, but none of them seemed to fit. My grandfather wished for my name to be Shahina, but my parents wanted something shorter. It was only when a family friend came to visit that I was finally christened Azia, and boy am I glad that's my name and not Shahina (more on that when it comes time to tell).

My life as the youngest child was enjoyable, although I can't remember it at all. It didn't last long. 14 months after I was born, my younger brother came to ruin my pleasant world. I even tried to kill him. I'M SERIOUS. Okay, well, it wasn't on purpose but it happened. My parents tell me this story, every now and again, about a time where I decided to share my carrots with my baby brother. They told me I was about 16 months which means that he would've been 2 months. Obviously, I had no idea that babies couldn't eat carrots and I felt bad that he didn't have any, so while my mother was out of the room, I stuck one in his mouth. It was only when my mother came back into the room that she saw my brother's eyes rolling back. She didn't know what to do, even though my father is doctor, and told my older brother, who was 7, to go and ask the neighbours for help. This was right around the time that my grandparents moved in, so my grandma stuck two finger into my baby brother's mouth, into his throat and pulled the carrot out. From then on, I have never shared anything with my younger brother, too scared that he would once again die. Well, maybe now it's more long the lines of not wanting to share...

So, here officially ends the first blog post about a boring, predictable attempted murderer who doesn't share her stuff with her siblings, at 5:54 pm (this took me a whole 24 minutes to write).