1 

According to Urban Dictionary, the “main character” is the character in the story of any kind of book, movie or TV show, who has the most importance in the story and does the most to support the plot. One glance at this definition and you would see I am anything but the “main character.” I’m what you could call a “background talent” or an “extra.” I am but a smidge on this planet we call Earth. 

I had someone ask me, “why is it important to write about you?” Well here’s my answer…  

It’s not.    

I haven’t done anything to change the world and don’t plan to either. I’m not famous or rich. I don’t have any special talents. I am simply one of 7.888 billion people.  

You may try and convince me. Saying things like “ everyone’s story deserves to be heard” or “one person can make a difference.” But in all honesty, it’s comfortable away from the spotlight. It’s shady and all the pressure fades out of existence. I may not have fame and riches but I have hundreds and thousands and millions of people to surround me. This may have been uncomfortable if I was claustrophobic. But since I'm not, I'll enjoy my stay here, in the background. 

Still, despite how insignificant it may be; here’s a little something written by an extra. By me.  

2 

I’ve lived in 7 homes. Each one, different from the one before. From a small apartment in Troy to a big house in Granville. From a big house in Granville to an even smaller apartment in Troy. From an even smaller apartment in Troy to an apartment in Menands. From an apartment in Menands to a house across the street. From a house across the street to an apartment down the block. 6 “old homes”, 5 reasons to move, 4 houses I vividly remember, 3 hometowns, 2 parents to oversee these households, 1 current home and 0 personal connections. To me, every one of these homes were just wood beneath my feet. Just a roof above my head. Just 4 walls that would surround me. Even so, all these places imprinted a certain something on me. Things that are hard to explain and won’t be in this writing. The dingy, drug infested streets of Troy. A kind, small town called Granville. And Menands, my current home. A gateway between minor cities and the Capital. A smidge on the map of New York state. The village that lacks a local grocery store. As a result of all these changes in geography, I've come to learn 2 extralimital and ever-enduring facts. #1. My parents and 4 sisters have always been with me, every step of the way and #2. Until I move out on my own, I will never have my own room. (p.s.PS. If you add all the numbers in this paragraph that are in number form you get my age backwards :>)  

3 

I was born September 25, 2008, the fourth of five children. I am mixed, not white. I have curly brown hair and hazel/brown eyes. I am very stubborn. Without a doubt, stubbornness is one of the few things my family members and I share.  If we think we are right, then we are right. If we are wrong, we still believe we are right. It is both a blessing and a curse. Besides that we are all unique in our emotions. We each have different morals and opinions. We have different ways of coping during a hard times. We have different levels of patience and so on. I’d like to say that despite all that I live in a functioning, harmonious household. Unfortunately, life is not that simple. 

Growing up, my parents were always at each other's throats. So much so that it was more of a shock to see them affectionate than to see them fighting. Most of my siblings were hurt by this experience. Mentally and emotionally. But unlike our parents, we’ve found better ways to express our feelings. In a way, however, my parents' angst rubbed off on us and because of that I've done a lot of things I regret. But I was younger then and after putting up with that for so long I've become indifferent. My parents have simmered down and what hurt me before can’t hurt me now. Regardless, I love my family and my family loves me. Sometimes we get along and sometimes we don’t. I fight with my siblings and I talk back to my parents. We are all far from perfect but that’s okay. It isn’t always an uphill battle.  

4 

Growing up with four sisters is anything but easy. Hand-me-downs, chores, expectations and lack of personal space are terms I am very familiar with. Phrases like “keep your hands to yourself” and “apologize to your sister” are as routine as changing seasons. Being fourth born means I am compared to my older siblings. It means I am lumped with the youngest, yet expected to “act my age.” It means money is limited. It means adult siblings. It means holidays with seven in the house and normal days with less. It means “do or don’t be like your sister.” It means “set a good example.” It means you are too young for one thing and too old for the next. It means you are a middle child but not the middle child. It means shared rooms and responsibilities. It means one bathroom for six females. It means chaos with a hint of tranquility.  

Sadaysia, Olivia, Kansas, Ella and Richelle. Year 2000, 2001, 2006, 2008 and 2012. Oldest, second oldest, middle, second to youngest and youngest. The names, birth years and order of the Downs/Hoenig/Ponzo girls. The names, birth years and order of the sisters I love and cherish so much.  

5

A childlike heart comes with a big imagination. I’ve been told I have a big imagination. By my parents, my teachers, my imaginary friends. I could satisfy myself with my mind. I didn’t need toys or siblings or BFFs, three things I was blessed with, despite being an eccentric loudmouth. If only my parents had known, they could've saved a lot of time and money. Anyway, using this big imagination of mine I made games suited to me and for me. The Spinning Game, in which I spent hours spinning on the checkered floor of my old, old, old kitchen until I dropped. The “Make You Laugh”  Game in which I did absolutely anything to cheer someone up. Role Playing, a game that already existed but I made my own. A game where I could be whoever and whatever I wanted. Mom, dad, princess, ogre, anything and everything. It was all up to me. I held playground races, one of the few games I needed siblings and friends for. Through this game, the rusty, unsafe playgrounds of Troy were transformed into intricate, engaging obstacle courses. The small playgrounds of Menands became endless jungle gyms. And during winter, when I had to make due, my very own hallways became rough tracks with pillow and book stack hurdles worthy of being used by experienced track stars. To this day, I keep my imagination with me wherever I go. It is my fuel, whether it be games during the day or nightly scenarios before bed. Imagination spawns creativity, without it my childhood would’ve been pretty bleak.  

6  

UNO and beach trips. 

These things, for lack of a better word, are key elements of my childhood. About 35 % of my memories with my family include these two wonderful things. 

Summer, winter, spring and fall. Day and night. Rain or shine, we spent around our wooden table shuffling cards and calling “uno out”. A game the whole family, minus mom, would play. After a while, -“a while” meaning years-  the colorful, flimsy cards would get “crusty”. They’d start looking like a book you’d find in a museum. They’d start feeling like a wet paper lollipop stick without the “wet” part.  And they’d start smelling like old pennies. We’d whip out a new deck and the games of number stacking and illegal moves would commence. 

During the summer when we weren’t indoors, we would be in a body of water somewhere. Grafton, Lake Taconic, Cossayuna, The Georgi on the Battenkill  and Lake George, just to name a few. These are the beaches my family (minus dad sometimes) and I go to annually. We’d pack up our towels, snacks and goggles. Hop in the van and drive. Depending on how far up north we were and how cold the water temperature was, it would test the courage of whoever would plunge in first. My sisters and I, once in the water, would do flips and handstands; *cough not successfully cough*. Soon, my mom would jump in and we’d spend the day swimmingly while swimming. The view of the sun shining on the ripples in the lake. The smell of seaweed and fish pee infused water. The hot tan sand beneath my feet. All components of some of my most memorable memories .  

7 

I could talk to her for hours. She’s my closest friend. We very rarely disagree on anything and always have good laughs with each other. She tells me about her few, but personal, hopes and dreams. I tell her about the crazy things that have happened to me as of late. She’s not very interesting or funny or brainy, but she’s easy to talk to. Well, at least easier than others. When I'm having a hard time she’s a listener to my venting. When I need to pick what to wear or how to style my hair she is there to help me make choices. Sometimes though when I need her the most she isn’t quite there. Sometimes she doesn’t want to talk and won’t even look at me. Sometimes she puts herself down and at times like those I have to bring her back up. She has the confidence, the confidence that I need. This girl and I. We are each other’s comforts. Just us two, her and me and the world disappears. Time passes quickly when I'm with her.  When she’s lost I can find her in a mirror or on a window. She is my reflection. 

On the flipside, my bully exists to haunt me. Everytime I see her, I want to hide. She makes me feel bad, even on a good day. She is everything I don’t want to be. She makes me realize my flaws. She makes me compare myself to others. She makes me realize how unphotogenic I am. She makes me cringe. She makes me insecure. She is me but through the lens of a camera. Printed, digitally, videos too. No matter her form, I despise her.   

8 

I am a Christian. I am not a homophobe. I am not a racist. I am not a hater to all. I am simply a girl who has faith that a savior died for me. For you. 

Christians are often perceived as these brain washers who hate on everyone and everything that is not exactly like them. That does in fact apply to some who call themselves “christian.”The term “christian” is so broad. You could be talking about a catholic, baptist or Presbyterian and I wouldn’t know. Just like all humans, each christian believes and acts differently from the next. By some, this word is used as a mask. These are people who know they sin and believe calling themselves something they are not will make them a better person. Many “Christians” today are like this. They say “because I am christian, I am above you“ or “I hate you because you are a certain way ”. They act like this to other Christians as well. They judge others because they feel superior. They don’t realize they are just as bad as everyone else. 

I think we are all free to believe and do as we please. One of my favorite mottoes is “you do you.” The way you look, the way you act, your lifestyle, traditions and interests are personal. No one on this earth can decide them for you despite how wrong or right they may be. 

God gave us a choice to believe what we want to. Because of this I chose not to judge. Not to hate. So what if you’re homosexual, polytheistic or whatever you may be. You were put on this planet by the will of God and deserve love just the same as others. And yes, in the eyes of God you are a sinner. But so am I.  

I am a non-denominational christian. I am baptized. Jesus is my savior. He died on a cross for my sins. The bible is true. And it tells me to love, to respect, to honor, to have faith and to stand firm in my beliefs. You don’t have to agree and I won’t make you. Still, that is what I believe to be true.