Sofia Seeds

By Sophia Brown

Born in the Bronx, NY to a single mom. Then moved to Los Angeles, CA. and several cities after. Life for Sophia has been nothing short of unique adventures. Just another girl from around the way, she shares her hearts story in this beautifully written tale of love, faith, curiosity and perseverance. 

Her vulnerability make

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sophia Brown
• Release date: Apr 4, 2024
• ISBN: 9798869298720

Book preview

Sofia Seeds

Sophia Brown

Copyright © 2024

All Rights Reserved

Dedication

To my grandmother, Sofia DeJesus, I remember your hands: powerful, generous, and graceful. I see them holding this book.

Acknowledgment

To the greatest, the Almighty God, you get all the glory, for this book was written before I ever thought of it. I thank you for always reminding me, never leaving me, and always bringing me back home to you.

To my number one fan, my day one, my mother. I don’t know where I’d be and what I would do without you. Thank you for showing me unconditional love. I want to grow up and be just like you. To my husband, my confidant, Thank you for never giving up on me. Breaking curses, healing, and growing with me. We’re in this for life.

To all my kids, my greatest blessings. My whole heart. You have always inspired me and pushed me to be better.

To my Titi Lydia and my cousins Jasmine, Sheena, and David, thank you for your never-ending support. I owe you my legs because you all have walked with me.

To my sisters of love, Rere, Devin, Laura, and Nancy, you all helped me wipe my tears and stood by me through all the days, no matter what they looked like. To Batman, thank you for inspiring me and teaching me to take my mask off. Life is better like this, and I am truly grateful.

And to my ancestors, my angels in heaven, Mommy, Papi, Titi Lucy, Titi Gin, Uncle Lulu, Titi Nancy, Uncle Jimmy, Charlie and Nelson. Thank you for letting me know you are always with me, spiritually guiding me, holding my heart, and protecting me. I hope I make you proud. Your goodness, your sacrifices, prayers, and love have paved my way. Thank you. I love you all. You all have made this possible.

Preface

We were cruising down El Segundo Boulevard in my Mom’s 1978 brown Honda Civic Hatchback. We called it La Cucaracha because the shape and color reminded us of a cockroach. Mom and I would try to pronounce it with a Spanish accent, like the people in the Spanish Novellas. I guess you can say we were missing the Bronx.

My gaze was immersed in the beautiful scenery. Handfuls of people walked the streets, breathing in the cool air that smelled like fresh sheets. The California sun seemed so perfect. Its warmth felt like velvet against my skin.

I had no seatbelt on. My armpits were cuffed at the molding of the door to keep my body gripped in the car. My twig-like arms soared high toward the sky as if I were winning a race and crossing the finish line. My head stretched out, and my untamed hair danced wildly in the melodies of the winds. I’m sure I looked like one of those happy dogs perched outside a car window with their tongue hanging out. My happiness was brighter than the sun.

Mom would never let me do this, but today was a special day. I want to think how proud she was for making me so happy, so she let me ride the wind. We were on our way to our new home, our fifth move since our departure from the Bronx to California. We moved around a bit, living with family and going through a few apartments. We always shared a room, or I would sleep with my cousins. Even back home, I slept with my grandmother. It was sweet, but I always dreamed of having my own room one day like the little girls I saw on TV. Once, my mom took me to a party of one of her friends, and their daughter had the most amazing room. It was furnished with a pink canopy bed with pink frilly comforters and curtains to match.  All her stuffed animals were organized neatly in a line, and everything had its own place. That sight sparked within me a wish.

That day, my wish came true. I got my very own room.  I was thirteen years old, and we moved into a small back house in Hawthorne, California. I was excited that I would finally have my own room. The house was super small, situated in an alleyway adjacent to the community center. It was a one-bedroom house, but the small patio in the back had been converted into a shotgun room. The remodeled back room was connected to the house bathroom and was wide enough to fit a twin bed and an end table.  It was spacious enough to feel private and cozy.

It was my own room! My mom hung sheets from the walls and ceiling with a thin rope.  This separated my room from the bathroom, creating a makeshift wall and door at the same time. Someone gave me a bed, and mom purchased an end table at a thrift store. She even got me pink sheets. They weren’t like her friend’s daughter’s, but I imagined them to be just as pretty. I decorated my room with every single trinket and toy I collected over the years. I remember drawing pictures, tearing out photos from magazines, and hanging them on the walls, improvising, stamping my signature to what was now my very own.

Overwhelming emotions ascended within me. I was happy, and appreciation flared within me. That night, my first time in my own bed, in my own room, I did something I never did before. Something I believe truly set the course of my life.

During that time, I would frequently converse with my grandmother over the phone since we departed from New York. She would always ask me whether I had been saying my prayers, and I would hastily respond with an energetic ‘yes.’ I wasn’t lying to her.  I always recited quick prayers like ‘Thank God for my food,’ and every now and then, I would produce a ‘thank you’before I went to bed. But it lacked something. It was nothing like the way I knew I should pray.

When I slept with my grandmother back in New York, I would always hear her prayers through the night. Then, in the morning, she would go to her spiritual room and pray at her altar. The power of her prayers hovered in my ears even throughout the day. I was always surrounded by prayer. It was never forced; it was just a natural thing we did daily. We never went to church, not my generation. My mom and her siblings grew up in a Catholic Church, but our church was literally in our home every day. To this day, prayer has been a constant companion and savior.  I have experienced many blessings from it.

But that night in my bed, gratitude and humility brimmed within my soul. A part of me felt guilty for not properly recognizing my blessings daily. So, I poured my overwhelming emotions into words. I knelt down and started praying, surrendering my little heart. I remember looking at the clock before I started praying. It was 9 pm. When I finally said ‘Amen,’ it was past midnight on the clock. I prayed for over 3 hours. 

I want to think I made a pact with God that night. I said, If I ever forget a day in my life to pray, this prayer is for every day I forget.

I prayed for everyone who helped me get to that point. My mom, my family, and our friends. I prayed for a family of my own one day and that God would provide me with children and everything they need. I whispered, I know I have a family of my own. I just haven’t met them yet, and when you are ready to give them to me, I promise to raise them right.

I prayed for the world. I prayed for the people who didn’t know God as I did because the world would be a better place if they did.

I poured every emotion I felt into that prayer. I cried so much that night. I don’t know what came over me.  I thought of my grandmother and how she prayed at her altar every morning. She helped so many people, and I was doing so little compared to her. I know I was only thirteen, but I knew better. So, I prayed with intention.

I believe that prayer was my creed – my commitment to life and my first seed of purpose. I didn’t know what I was capable of, and I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do in life. What I did know was that life wasn’t easy. I knew life was about hard work, sacrifice, and helping others. I knew the feeling when someone helped us and gave us a chance. It made me feel safe, happy, and appreciative. I wanted others to know that feeling. Deep down in my soul, I wanted to help others receive the same.

I knew our life was challenging, but we weren’t poor, so we had a chance. There was hope. Poor, to me, at that time, meant not having a home to live in and people to love. I grew up in the Bronx, where homelessness lingered through every street. Drug addicts roamed around like stray dogs. Kids left their homes to fend for themselves. I had witnessed it and knew we weren’t poor. Indeed, we had our own struggles, but our struggles were part of life’s hard work – a requirement for success.

I witnessed my mother’s bravery and determination to do better. When her sister first moved to California, she convinced my mom to move. She said it would be a better place to raise her daughter than in the Bronx. So, my mom took the chance and ventured to a place of hope, forging her path to new beginnings. She embraced courage, strength, and perseverance as she moved us to higher ground. My mother was focused on providing a better life for me and for her.

My journey, like many, has been packed with a hoard of challenges. However, I know that regardless of those challenges, I’m still very fortunate and blessed. Life has been good to me compared to others. This does not mean I’m better than anyone. I simply want to acknowledge where my strength and blessings have come from, paying homage first to God and then to the people, places, and events that got me here.

New York was the foundation that helped me cultivate my dreams and ambitions. It’s a city of outcasts, artists, junkyards, dirty streets, bookstores, jazz, poets, painters, billion-dollar skyscrapers, dancers, lights that make the night look like day, thick accents, tough love, iron horses, midnight burgers at White Castle, hot dogs on Coney Island, Italian Ices at the pizza spot, dive bars and people with no time for bullshit, desperate to escape and live. The city’s heart pounds, aching for something more. It’s where working-class people fix cars and pour the best cappuccinos. New York is the engine for a progressive culture filled with the most diverse and creative people I have ever met.

Then, I moved to Los Angeles, California, where my growth flourished into my ancestors’ hopes and dreams.  It’s where the sun feels different, as if it was made for them.  The green yards and flowers didn’t discriminate and bloomed in every neighborhood. Just passing them puts a smile on your face. It’s where Luxury and Art birthed a baby and named it ‘Hollywood.’

The camping trips to the mountains are just an hour away. It’s where a Rolls Royce parked on Rodeo, drives through Compton. It’s where gangsters and Cholos go hard for their set. It’s getting fries at Tom’s and doughnuts at Randy’s. It’s all-day beach trips. A city with no winter snow, but all the apartments have carpet. It’s where you can buy everything you need at the Slauson Swap Meat. Where the cars bounce like a kangaroo, and the fresh paint jobs look like your girl’s nails. It’s hanging out at the mall with your friends window shopping. It’s about Nike Cortez and Turkish earrings.

I love both of these cities and have flown back and forth to them throughout my life. I know without the experiences I’ve had, I wouldn’t be the woman I am today. I wouldn’t have collected so many seeds of life. As I share my experiences in this book, one of my goals is to reveal how much we all are alike.

I pray my story can help a soul connect so that someone may be lifted and a beautiful shift and change will flourish in them. I truly want to inspire someone not to give up. I hope my message resonates when I say, We thrive when we choose to help, support, and love each other. By doing this, each one of us can find our purpose, our truth, and our wholeness.

Like all of us, my hardships have been paired with happiness. My sacrifices produced smiles. My shortcomings and faults sprouted a better me. We all are capable of elevating our growth if we gather and water our seeds. The key is to identify the rich seeds that we collect along the journey of life.

We learn that some seeds are special, and we keep them. We plant and