Dear Diary,

IF THIS IS Weiwi-Hono or Momma GET OUT NOW!

Okay, I have NEVER written in a diary before, SO DO NOT LAUGH! If you think this is funny, inanimate paper, you should see my mom when she breaks out in song. Its HILARIOUS!

Anyway, back on subject, my mom said it would be "responsible" and "important for my spiritual growth" if I started writing a diary. She said it helps with post-traumatic stress disorder. Whatever that means. I am NOT going through PTSD, I simply am still in shock. That to me seems to fit perfectly; I'm not ready to write it down yet, though. Maybe later, not now though.

Maybe I do have PTSD, but if you saw what I saw, you would be pretty freaked out to. Well, the plane is about to land in Seattle, where I will then move to LA Push. Oh, I forgot.

About Me: I used to live on the Cherokee Res in North Carolina before my parents split up, I lived with my dad while my momma found a place up here. I never left my room after THAT. It was horrible; I had nightmares for months. My mom heard what happened and immediately decided we were going to start over, that's why I'm on an AirTran plane right now.

Age: 16 ½

Occupation: Daughter

Name: Amitola-Angeni-Awentia. I wish I had a regular name like Emily or Jessica. I, of course, end up with the long complicated name. Amitola means rainbow Angeni means spirit Awentia means Fawn. I go by Tia for those who can't say my name.

Well the plane is about to land and the little selt-belt light is on so I guess I'll right in this tomorrow.

Tia

I closed up my diary and looked out the window, sighing. I really do hate my name, just like I wrote. It is extremely annoying when people not from the Cherokee Res try to say it. The joy of moving somewhere new. The plane landed slowly and lightly but I still jerked and hit the seat in front of me. Stupid coach seats. I groaned,

"Thank you for riding AirTran, please remove your carry on from the storage area and exit in an orderly manner. If you need any assistance moving your bags, notify an attendant immediately." I quickly jumped up, grabbed my bag out of the overhang apartment, and thanked God for my aisle seat. I quickly was off the plane looked around the terminal franticly, my eyes scanning the crowds.

I saw a large tan boy with a sign that said "Nituna: Go with him." I laughed silently at my mom's poor English penmanship before heading up to him. I kept my eyes on his face as I pointed to the sign then at my face, he was kinda cute, I guess.

"Are you Nituna?" He asked. I looked at him funny waiting for the reaction. Since my mom doesn't like using English, most people think I can't speak it. "Oh, Shit!" He exclaimed. "Uhhhhh.." He trailed off trying to figure out whether or not to start talking again. "ARE-YOU-NITUNA?"

Did he seriously think saying it slower and louder was going to help someone that didn't know English understand? I burst out laughing and replied; "Yes, I am Nituna but only to my mom cuz it means daughter. Yes, I know English, and no, I will NOT tell you how to pronounce my full name." He laughed along with me.

"I have a friend with a really hard name, we call him Quil. You'll fit right in." I smiled weakly at him and let him lead me to the parking lot. I fell asleep somewhere between an Elvis song and an Eminem one.