I Just Took A DNA Test. Turns Out I’m 100%…Confused

Image result for you are not the father maury

Photo Credit

As you can tell from the title, obviously I took a DNA test.  You might be asking yourself the question “Why?”.  There are a few reasons why I did, but let’s just clear one thing up first.  I did not take a Maury “You are not the father!” type of DNA test. I took a genealogy DNA test from Ancestry.com.  FYI, this is not a sponsored blog post.

The Why

I have always been interested in everyone and everything that has made me the person that I am today.  Some of those things and people I have never met or encountered.  For that reason, a sample of my saliva had to provide me with that information.  I have always been interested in my ancestors who were here before me.  What were they like?  Who were they? Am I anything like them? Do I look like them?  I have so many questions and not enough answers.

Another reason was that like most families, the stories that are told don’t always add up.  Some of the details of my family made sense while other details had me questioning everything I know about myself.  Is my great grandfather really a German man?  Do I really have a Shoshone Indian as a great great grandmother? Being an African American woman in America it is really no surprise to have DNA from other parts of the world, but the information I was receiving from family and questionable internet leads was overwhelming.  What do I do with all this information? How do I get more information?  How do I confirm the information that was already given to me?

Then there are the numerous encounters with skeptical people who question my race.  I am constantly being asked, “What are you?” “What are you mixed with?” and other like questions.  I tell them I am black, and I am met with responses like, “No…where are you REALLY from?” or “There’s no way you’re black.  You HAVE to be mixed with something.” These questions paired with the family history I was given had me completely lost and questioning who I really was.

Image result for Question marks

Photo Credit

Problem Solved

So, I did what any sane person in 2019 would do.  I took my issues to the Internet in hopes that it would provide me with the answers I had been longing for.  After countless hours of both productive (and not so productive) searches, I ended up on YouTube watching video after video of people who were racially ambiguous learning more and more about who they were.  These people, some who looked like me, were discovering the regions where their DNA was traced back to.  Men and women from different parts of the world were spitting into tubes and mailing them off to various companies seeking to know more about who they were. Fast forward a couple of minutes into the videos and there were the results (in real life it took about 5 weeks for the results to come in).  I have never seen so many stunned people in my life.

I too wanted to be one of those stunned people; one day the opportunity presented itself to me in the form of a wait for it…the form of a Facebook ad. Oddly, I was not surprised. Thank you, government agent! I genuinely appreciate you. Anyway, the ad was for a reduced price on the DNA kit.  I do not think I could have hit the order button quick enough.

A couple of days later the kit arrives in the mail. My excitement level is through the roof! I read the instructions carefully; as I do not want anything interfering with my results.  I gather enough saliva for the sample.  I collect it in the tube that was provided, seal it and put it in the envelope.  Then placed it in the box to send it off to be analyzed. I treated that sample like a newborn baby.  I carefully placed the box in the front passenger seat of my vehicle, and carefully drove to the post office.  Me being the paranoid person I am, I decided to bring the sample inside and place it in one of the mailboxes there.  I could not risk the brutal south Louisiana heat corrupting my DNA sample. The sample is now safe with my local post office.  I can now move on to the “stalking” phase of at-home genetic DNA testing.

Image result for dna

Photo Credit

Let the Stalking Begin

The first notification of many arrives on my phone.  My kit has been received! Now I can rest at night knowing that my sample is not hanging out in some unknown location with some strange people, plotting some strange activities with my DNA.  A week or so passes, and I receive another notification! This time they are processing my sample. Let’s go DNA!! Just following this process was more than enough excitement for me.  While I thought it could not get any more exciting, “DNA extracted” notification hits my phone about a week later. Now it is beginning to feel real.  This process took way longer than I wanted it to. In fact, it was about two weeks between the extracting of my DNA and the analysis of it. The “DNA analyzed” notification finally comes, and the excitement returns. I would be lying if I said I did not think about the results every day.  In fact, I would check the website, my e-mail, and the app daily to make sure I had not missed the notifications. Early one morning, I wake up to an e-mail notification letting me know that my results were ready!! I was overwhelmed with emotions.  I was nervous, excited, curious, ecstatic and just overall relieved that the stalking phase could finally be over.

Image result for checking phone

Photo Credit

The Results Are In…

The e-mail is open, the link is begging to be clicked. So, I oblige. I click the link and watch as the website appears in the address bar. I am greeted with the log-in page. Umm, NO! I do not remember my log-in information! Panic has been added to the concoction of emotions already running through me. Great! However, I was prepared for this! After watching so many YouTube videos of people doing this exact thing (trying to log in to their accounts after 4-5 weeks).  I decided to make a note of my login and password as soon as I created the account. I can hardly remember my login information for things I use daily.  I knew if I tried to remember after 4-5 weeks, it was going to be next to impossible. The information has been located and entered into the appropriate places on the login screen.

I honestly believe I stopped breathing in that short amount of time it took for the page to load. The first page was an explanation page. No! We are not doing this!  Take me to my results…NOW! I click through tutorial box after tutorial box. Finally! I am face to face with myself. It’s me in per cents, a colorful pie chart and an equally colorful map! Wow! The number of slices in my pie chart and the number of highlighted regions on the map took me by surprise. I had no idea these places and cultures were a part of my history, that they were a part of who I am.

The website also provided me with information about DNA matches.  There they were, names, photos, possible relations to me and the amount of shared DNA I had with these people.  I am amazed by the information in front of me! I was happy to see one of my uncles on my dad’s side of the family had also completed a DNA test, but that was where the familiarity ended.  Possible second, third and even fourth cousins were on the screen.  These people were complete strangers to me. I reached out to some of my matches in hopes of some answers, only to find out no one knew how we were related. I was slightly disappointed.  However, I was still excited about the amount of information I had just evaluated. Below are screenshots of my actual results.







Now What?

The results are in and have been reviewed.  In fact, they have been updated with more accurate information from Ancestry.com since I originally view my results.  But now what? Now it is time to make connections with my DNA matches.  It is time to talk to my family and gather as much information as I can, so I am able to connect some of these dots. This is also time to get to know relatives I never knew I had.  It is time for some road trips and some flights to visit some of my newfound relatives.  It is also a good time to learn about the cultures and people from the regions that have combined to make me the person I am today. It is time to let the research begin!

Alone With Others


One of my favorite things to do is go to a public place where a number of people are gathered and watch them. “Watch for what?” might be your question. I am watching how they behave.  I am observing the solo interactions, as well as the interactions of those with and around them. Bookstores and coffee shops are my favorite places to people watch. These two top the list, simply because everyone is in their own world. As I sit comfortably in a cushy chair, with enough pillows to ease the stresses of a rough day, I grab one of the books I selected. As I begin to read, the footsteps of a bookstore employee hurrying to another area of the two-story store peak my interest. I glance in her direction as I see her trotting down the moving escalator, still in a hurry. My thoughts quickly shift from my book to “What’s her story?” Before I can begin to put ideas together, my thoughts are interrupted by a young couple (late teens early twenties) who plop down in the other two plushy pillow chairs. The guy sat on the navy blue, while the girl plopped down on the deep rouge chair. Sitting in my olive green chair, I smile when they look in my direction and return to the book in hand. The couple quickly forgets about the lady in the slacks, pumps, and button-down shirt, and engage in personal conversation as if I somehow literally disappeared behind the book. The two were sophomores at the local university and had been dating for some time in high school. They reminisced on school dances, classmates, teachers, school activities, and above all the ease of life they had left a few years back. Jumping to the present day, they discussed the stresses of professors, exams, dorms, and other areas of campus life. This eventually led to talks of marriage, careers, and futures. I (not that much older than they were at the time) hoped they would live out all of their dreams, as I was a single mother, working full-time, and a student at the community college. My thoughts are interrupted again; this time by a group of elementary/middle school-aged kids apparently on a field trip. As I watch the group pile on the escalator behind me, I know this would be interesting. They made it up to the second floor in groups of about eight to ten, each with an adult chaperone. The entire group gathers a distance away near the music area. Vaguely, I hear something about a scavenger hunt and the faint chatter of a few kids.  The big group breaks apart into little groups and they disperse in every direction. My observations of the styles, attitudes, and language the kids used were interrupted by the vibration of my LG flip phone. I check the outer display to see “2:30PM”, and an alarm clock just beneath bouncing around as if to intensify the urgency that I should head for the parking lot. I leave the books in the olive green cushy pillow chair, the chattering kids, the young couple, and the bookstore employee as I make my way down the escalator, and out the door. Another day…another thought.


Fait Accompli 

Is total control really worth the price?

Photo Created Using: flamingtext.com

Most people don’t wake up in the morning knowing EXACTLY how their day will unfold. Well, I’m not most people. My name is Alyssa, and I have total control over how my day goes. 

While most people are dreaming while sleeping, I am putting together tomorrow. 

There is just one problem with this special “gift”. I have to terminate one person before I go back to sleep to create my tomorrow. 

Now when I say “terminate”, I don’t mean fire or let someone go from my life. I literally mean terminate. You know, as in put an end to  one’s life. 

Photo Source: medicalnewstoday.com

Now I bet you’re a bit confused. Let me explain. 

It all started on a hot and humid summer day in a small town along a little known bayou in Louisiana. 

I began that morning griping about the weather the minute I stepped outside and my hair instantly frizzed up and my skin immediately began to glisten with sweat. 

I cursed summer!

Photo Source: pinterest.com

My neighbor, Mrs. Langlois, was outside sipping her coffee and judging people as she religiously did every morning. She heard me despise the season and beelined straight towards me. 

“Well, good morning young lady. What’s got you a cussin’ so early in the day?”

I really wasn’t in the mood to deal with “The Mouth of the South” so I just decided to tell the truth and let her get back to playing judge and jury with the rest of the neighborhood. 

“Good morning! I’m just disgusted with this heat and humidity. That’s all.”
“Well young lady, if you don’t like it do something about it!”, replied Mrs. Langlois. 

Photo Source: Google Image Search 

At this point I’m convinced she wasn’t JUST drinking coffee. What on God’s green Earth was I supposed to do to cancel summer? Hell, I couldn’t even dodge my Public Investigator neighbor!

“Well, Mrs. Langlois you and I both know that’s impossible. I’ll just deal with it like I’ve been doing for all 21 years of my life.”

Mrs. Langlois grasped my right hand in her Little Old Lady hands, looked me dead in my eyes, and said, “Fait Accompli.” She then lowered my hand, and said, “Make it a good one, young lady!” 

And just like that, Neighborhood Watch was marching back to her perch to resume her routine snooping. 

Photo Source: pinterest.com

I was already thirty minutes behind schedule for the day, so I got in my car and left. 
Disturbed by Mrs. Langlois’ little performance back at my house, I decided I would Google “Fait Accompli”. 

I grabbed my cell from my purse that sat in the passenger seat and Googled the words that were strangely uttered by my eavesdropping neighbor. 

Caught up in what my search yielded, I wasn’t paying attention to the road and slammed right into the car in front of me. 


Photo Source: themitrafirm.com

After dealing with the police, repair shops, my insurance company, and my guilt, I was done for the day. 

I drove my damaged car into my driveway and went straight into my house. 

Something was off. 

Where was Tammy Talkalot? She should have greeted me at my door to tell me about the wreck I caused. Oh well, it’s better she didn’t. I had no more energy for her. 

Photo Source: google photo search 

Awaken from my slumber I noticed my house was cooler than it usually was during the summer. I grabbed another blanket and went back to sleep. 

The next day I woke up ready to fight with the heat and humidity. I made sure my hair was in a nice frizz resistant bun and headed out the door. 
As I walked outside, I instantly froze. What the hell? The cool crisp autumn air whipped against my exposed skin. The leaves crunched under my flip flops. Those same leaves were brown. 

Brown like the trees that stood before me. I looked around me and fall was in full bloom! 

Photo Source: publicdomainpictures.net

My confusion was interrupted by a little voice that belonged to my overly layered meddlesome neighbor, Mrs. Langlois. 

She was making her way over…AGAIN! I stood there and just waited. 

“Good morning, young lady! I hope you are enjoying the weather.”

Okay, so now I KNEW I was not the only one who was seeing and feeling fall.

“Good morning Mrs. Langlois. I am enjoying it.”

“That’s great dear, enjoy your day. And make it a good one.” 

Photo Source: pages.nxtbook.com

She made her way back home and left me even more confused. I looked at my phone to check for news about this weather. 

But I was met with other news, rather strange news. The guy whose car I wrecked was dead. There it was in black and white. “Local Marine, Pvt. Keith Fontaine, Died While Fighting For His Country Overseas.”

How was that possible? He has been home for months. I accidentally ran into the back of his car yesterday. None of this was making any sense. 

‪I ran back towards my house and it just hit me. My damaged car was no longer damaged. 

I felt everything spinning around me. I was so confused I thought I was going to faint. I went in the house and sat down on the sofa. 

Photo Source: beliefnet.com

What was going on? 
I ran over to Mrs. Langlois’ house. She was outside as I expected. 

“Mrs. Langlois, we need to talk!”, I demanded. 

She smiled proudly, then nonchalantly replied, “I know.” 

Leslie’s Wrath


Every morning it’s the same thing: wake up,  shower, put on gym clothes, brush teeth, throw hair in a quick ponytail, and head out to the gym with protein shake in hand. But today something was different.   December 1, 2013, it was a cloudy, Sunday morning. Not that that was anything to be alarmed about. Neither were the droplets of rain that began to fall on Corrine’s black Nissan Altima. No,  it was something else.  Something different. Something different that Corrine Taylor would soon find out. 

She could sense that something was not right about the day, and almost went back into her 2 bedroom cottage style home. The home she had bought when she first moved to Baton Rouge from New Orleans. A home which symbolized new beginnings and fresh starts.  New Orleans, Louisiana was Corrinne’s home for all of her life until earlier that year when she made the eighty mile interstate drive to her new home.

Corrinne’s job in wireless sales was the cause for the move. Odyssey Wireless was the top wireless provider in the country and had been opening new locations in booming markets.  Baton Rouge was one of those, and required some experienced sales reps to help get the store’s sales rolling. Being a senior sales rep made  Corrine the perfect candidate to join the new Baton Rouge location.

Everything had been going well since the move in March. Corrine was settled in her new home. Her commissions had nearly doubled in her new market, she purchased a new car, and had more new friends than she could have expected. However, something just wasn’t right about this dreary Sunday morning.

As Corrine gets in her car and starts the car with the Push to Start feature she was thrilled to have, Rhianna’s Broken Dishes blares from the car’s speakers. She quickly turned the volume down to zero in her attempt to recover from being startled by her previous jam session the night before. Corrinne enjoyed turning her music up extra loud when she got off from work, but always regretted it in the morning when the volume scared her into a mini heart attack.

After a few deep breaths and some laughs, Corrinne changes from CD to Radio and slowly increases the volume. 96.1 is on the dial, and a commercial plays throughout the car.  Nope. She changes the station to 94.1, the latest from 2 Chainz is playing. Nope.  102.5 is her next stop.  She decides that local radio talk was better than what she had gone through so far. Two radio personalities were talking about something as Corrine’s phone rings. I’ll answer it later. She thought. I need to get to the gym. Before backing out of her driveway she turns the volume up so she could hear the conversation on air,

“…depression 11 has formed in the Gulf of Mexico and is strengthening as we speak. The National Hurricane Center had been eyeing this system for development throughout the night. No one expected it to strengthen at such an alarming rate. With temperatures being unseasonably warm for December, this thing has a great chance of becoming a named storm within the next twenty-four to fourty-eight hours. We’ll keep you posted as the information updates.”

It’s December 1st!  Hurricane Season ended yesterday!!  This is so unreal.

To be continued…

K. A. Smith

Thank You For Running That Red Light…You Saved My Life!


Photo Source: blog.mlive.com

It was an unusually cold November night as Ember Connelly, a 20 year old student at Louisiana State University, was headed home after working a late shift as a bookseller at Barnes & Noble. It was almost midnight, and she was exhausted. All she wanted to do was get to her luxury apartment, take a quick shower, and crash in her warm, cozy bed. 

(Birdy’s Skinny Love played quietly on the speakers of Ember’s 2012 Toyota Corolla)

“I have got to get a better job,” Ember thought out loud. “How will I ever get any rest?” The vibration of Ember’s phone interrupted her thoughts. She held her Samsung Galaxy S3 in better viewing range, and quickly glanced at the display. “DO NOT ANSWER”, and the picture of her ex boyfriend, Ian, appeared on the phone’s display. “Uggghhhh!!!”, Ember screamed as she threw the device on the passenger seat. She turned up the volume on the car’s radio as she sat at the light of Towne Center and Jefferson. The five to ten minute drive to The Millennium Town Center, the luxury apartment complex Ember and her parents decided would be her home away from home, seemed to have somehow extended itself well beyond that time frame.

As she sat at the red light, she couldn’t help but think of the butt dialed voicemail she had gotten from Ian Thompson, her boyfriend of one year, not even twenty-four hours ago.  He had no intention of having a serious relationship with her at all. Ian was all about getting closer to Ember’s father, Charles Connelly Sr. Mr. Connelly was well connected in the architecture businesses in South Louisiana. He owned his own company, and was far from a failure of his trade. Ian was a junior, and an architecture major at LSU. 


Photo Source: design.lsu.edu

It was one year earlier. Ian and Ember had met when she was walking the campus with her parents a few days before classes started. She was an interior design major, and a freshman.  As Ember and her parents looked around The Design Building, they came across a guy ending a conversation on his cell phone. He immediately noticed Ember. That day she had her shoulder length reddish brown hair flat ironed and pinned up, because of the humidity. Her naturally tan skin, was a result of her father being Caucasian and her mother African American. She wore a coral and white floral maxi dress that perfectly displayed her medium frame, and curvy figure.  Ember was only 5’2″, but her breasts and hips measurements indicated she was no longer a little girl in high school. She had light brown eyes, that shined with the light of the sun. Her smile drew him in, and he was taken away by her fit body, hourglass figure, and beautiful complexion. He quickly introduced himself, “Hi, I’m Ian. I’m a sophomore here…architecture major.”

Ember thought those words would probably stick with her until she died, and probably somehow manage to haunt her after death. Ember had been sitting at this red light for about five minutes and hadn’t been paying attention to if it had turned green or not. Baton Rouge was notorious for it’s episodic malfunctioning lights, she thought. It was late, and a Sunday night, so no one else was really out and about. Not to mention the weather conditions had not been what residents of Baton Rouge were used to.  Ember decided to make the left onto Jefferson since no cars were coming. She was only on Jefferson for a few seconds when red and blue lights illuminated the dark night sky, and not to mention the interior of Ember’s Carolla. She pulled over in a lit parking lot with a Burger King in it.  She remained inside of her car with the windows up until the officer made his way to the window. She put her window down, turned the radio down, and greeted the officer. “Hi officer, I am so sorry for running the red light, but I was sitting there for like five minutes and it never turned.” “I’ll need your license, registration, and proof of insurance,” the officer replied as if he were a robot, and was only programmed to lead with that phrase. Ember reached into her purse and located her wallet. She fought with the area covered in plastic that seemed to have suctioned her driver’s license into a permanent location in her wallet. She tugged some more and out it came.  Ember then gathered the other documents from the car’s glove compartment, and handed them over to the officer. He walked back to his cruiser without saying one word to Ember. As she sat in her car with the heat on high, her phone lit up in the passenger seat. It was a text from Ian. Ember ignored it and turned the phone off. As she sat thinking about her spacious, two bedroom apartment, warm shower, and cozy bed there was a tap on her window causing her to jump. She pushed the button to lower the driver’s side window, and the officer apologized for startling her, only to hand her a ticket for running a red light. Well at least he isn’t robot, she thought, thinking about the fact that he did apologize. “I know you don’t live too far from here, but be careful on the road.” Those were the words the officer told Ember before he walked back to his car.  She headed out of the parking lot and on to Jefferson one last time that night.

(Ringtone playing: So wake me up when it’s all over, when I’m wiser and I’m older. All this time I was finding myself, I didn’t know I was lost.  So wa-)

Avicci’s Wake Me Up, Ember’s ringtone, woke her from a sound sleep. Before she could locate her phone in the darkness of her room, the ringtone ended. Who is calling me? She wondered. Better question, what time is it? She managed to grab her phone and check the time. 4:14 AM, November 17, 2013. Ember entered in her passcode to unlock her phone, anxious to see who disturbed her slumber. The number was none she recognized, and it was not stored in her phone’s contact list.  Ian, she immediately thought. Then the phone rang again, same number that interrupted Ember’s sleep. She answered before she missed the call again. “Hello?”
“Is this Ember Connelly?”, the male voice replied. Ember hesitantly replied, “Uh, yeah. Who’s this?” The male voice simply responded, “Thank you for running that red light, you saved my life!” Ember knew exactly who it was…


Photo source: play.google.com
To be continued…

To be continued…

The Fans At… (The Story of Why I Write)


This is my story of why I blog. It all started long ago, in a far away land…wait that wasn’t me!  Ok, all jokes aside, in elementary school we were always assigned writing assignments. Year after year, I was always entered into the Young Authors Contest…and won!  I was excited to win, naturally, but never thought I had a gift to share with others.

In middle school (6th grade) I made my way into a 7th/8th grade Creative Writing class (I didn’t like the class options for 6th graders,  so I got some strings pulled). This is when I was first told I had a gift. My first day in the class I was instructed to free write. I had the entire class time to put together ideas and come up with something original. As the bell rang, I had about ten pages front and back completed. I thought nothing of it, until my classmates appeared amazed. My teacher was also rather pleased. I was asked to stay after class for a few minutes, and that’s when I became nervous. I thought about everything under the sun that could be the problem, but instead, it was a moment of encouragement. The Creative Writing class was just a stepping stone for other writing opportunities in middle school. I was in a Journalism class, wrote for the school newspaper, and also discovered my love for writing research papers.

Fast forward to my senior year of high school. I was in my Honors English IV class, and each nine weeks we were assigned daily writing journal assignments. The daily writing assignments were typed on a standard sheet of printer paper, and were handed out to each student at the beginning of each nine weeks. The contents of the paper included:  the guidelines for writing the journal entries, a topic for every school day, and the deadline.  We had to write each assignment in our “journal” (black and white marble composition notebook). 

This one interesting journal topic was given to us during the final nine weeks. It was titled. The fans at… I was at home trying to knock out a few journal entries one day (making sure I met the deadline), and I was sitting in my bed writing. I came across, The fans at…, and I began writing.
Time passed and it was the last day of school for the seniors. Our English teacher handed back our journals, so we could see our grades.  Then, she announced that she read the most interesting journal, and wanted that person to stand before the class to read it aloud. If you haven’t guessed it yet, that lucky student was no one be yours truly. The selected entry was, The fans at… As I made my way to the front of the class, I was laughing on the inside, but my classmates were curious about what I had written. Once I had everyone’s attention, I began.  “The fans at my house are…” “…the fans at Home Depot are…” I went on describing ceiling fans, oscillating fans, and box fans in various places.  The class erupted in laughter, thinking I wrote that as a joke. My teacher wasn’t laughing. I was nervous…again!  I had an “A” on the assignment, why was she so serious?  She then told me she was referring to fans at a sporting event!  All I could say was “Oh!, and laugh it off, but she still wasn’t done with me. She went on to say that I shouldn’t persue a career in forensics, I should be a writer. She had never had anyone respond to that topic in the way I had. She explained how creative I was, and how she enjoyed reading all of my assignments throughout the year. 

That teacher’s words stuck with me, and I am finally giving writing a try!

Hello, and welcome to my blog!


Follow Random…Yet Not So Random Thoughts Of Mine on WordPress.com

Enter your email address to follow this blog and receive notifications of new posts by email.

Join 535 other followers

Escaping Space

Stories that matter.

The Godly Chic Diaries


Pointless Overthinking

Understanding ourselves and the world we live in.

The Renegade Press

Tales from the mouth of a wolf

Shreya Vikram

Blurring the lines between poetry and prose


I dont have the answers, just a lot of questions.

Arun's abode

an essentialist, word hunter and shares bizarre ideas.

Dr. Eric Perry

Psychology to Motivate | Inspire | Uplift


Words tell a Story, Beautiful words tell a Beautiful story

Welcome to the Cardinal!

TJ Dallas - Lesbian Erotica Author of the Pride Trilogy

dancing leaves

A safe and loving place of peace, joy, kindness, and compassion - who we really are deep inside.

Dark Fiction By K. T. Rose

Horror and suspense flash fiction, short stories, and novels

Jenny Roman

Shropshire-based Writer - supporting the short story

Mik Mob's Music Mass

share YOUR favourite tunes with The Mob

Writings By Ender

One Hell of an Apprenticeship

%d bloggers like this: