Childhood...
The first few years of my life seem like a blur now that I look back on it. A montage of films, music and frightening news stories.
I was 8 years old when my mom walked out on me and my dad. She said it was because she wasn't in love with him anymore, but I knew I was the real reason. She just never wanted kids, and my dad did. Luckily he wasn't alone when it came to raising me since as soon as she left, my grandpa moved in to help. He was the one who bought me my first drum kit after spending a year of watching me play air drums. So to pay him back, I learnt to play his favourite song, Wild Thing.
When I was 16 he passed away and my dad just fell apart. He had no idea how to raise a teenage girl alone, but I knew someone who did, my aunt. She lived in Manhattan and had always let me stay at her place during the summer. By that point my dad didn't care too much about me, so me leaving the house with nearly all of my possessions and my drum sticks didn't alarm him like it should've. I didn't really care though, New York was a long way away from California and the only way I could get there was a whole lot of hitchhiking...