The Nevergirl's

When I was 10 years old, I had such lofty goals.

Don't mock me; I speak the truth.

Friends and classmates dreamt of becoming doctors, lawyers, and presidents. I wanted nothing to do with those professions. I had something greater and nobler in mind.

I read all the books I could put my hands on, went to church every Sunday, prayed the rosary with the grandparents and my siblings every night, drank milk and vitamins diligently, and jogged with Lola Lory so that I'd grow up to become any of these:

So now you know, I was a very ambitious child.

Kicking ass and breaking bones had always been part of the plan. While girls my age were busy appending their crushes' surnames to their names, doing FLAMES, or trying to get the photos of the handsomest boys in class, I was very much occupied with one man and one long-running infatuation.

Him.

I loved him so much, in fact, I used to stare at my father's nunchuck ever so dreamily and pretend my Bruce and I were wielding it together.