I was a senior in high school. A rather lonely but, oddly enough comforting time in my life. Of all the nuances that it yielded unto moi, space- mental space was the blessing in disguise of the highest order. Spanish class was about the only time in the day that I felt like I could really “soar”- as most teachers would urge in coined, obligatory cliche.

Zadie, @MillaPinch, 2012
I was great at it- enough to go across the “Big Pond” and half-haphazardly spew it in the corridors of the Alhambra.- This was sophomore year by the way. I dared to envision my barely 16 year old self there. However, I think it was my stellar grades in the subject in contrast to all the… lets just say- “others” that I was studying that made my parents believers. It was nearly the only thing that brought a smile to a rather melancholy, adolescent girl’s face.
I happened to come across that same face as I was sort of… intuitively surfing the ‘net. -Still do from time to time. I believe its a result of my chronic nonacceptance of the known that drives me to do it. -Just sit, make up a word- a name- a phrase and see what happens. -See if it really exists or perhaps it really is just me. This time I had an assignment to sort of keep my internet-escapism at bay- so I could focus on a concrete end result- a biografìa for my Spanish 104 class.
“Hmm… Zora! Yeah, Zora Neale Huston. Zora, Zora, Zora… (pause for a blissful release of a coveted brain fart) …Zadie. Ya know? Zadie, would be another really cute name with a ‘Z’.”
And, lo and behold, it was like I saw Glenda the Good Witch or something… “Oh my god! She writes!… And, she dances!… Quirky and hella cool… Dope! She da one.” Needless to say this here biografìa assignment happened to receive my most gregarious and attentive graces than any other throughout my entire 4 year matriculation.
Smith- Zadie Smith.
-Still da one.