Through the eyes of my eight year old self, life was something wondrous and unexplainable; I frequently spent afternoons with my Abuelita Rosita. After work, the undiscovered artist would sit with her granddaughter and paint pictures of a world filled with infinite detail and color. Bright yellows, sultry reds, and royal blues gave light to drawings of gothic cathedrals, Persian gardens, and expansive seascapes. I dreamed of trips we could take to Rome and Paris, where my grandmother would sit at cafes dressed in her signature black, gently sipping coffee, soaking in the scenery.
One afternoon as I sat with my abuela, she pulled out a painting she worked on the day before. My eyes carefully examined the masterpiece; it was a picture of my family, how she dreamed we could live. A simple adobe home was in the corner, and through a small window I could see my Tia Rosemary arduously slaving to make a typical home-cooked meal; she always insisted on being “the perfect hostess.” On the side of the painting, my father sat in a gazebo, surrounded by scarlet roses, reading The Old Man and the Sea, his favorite book. My Abuela was placed in the very corner painting us—it was her true passion. Realizing I had only been looking at small details, my Abuela pointed to the center of the picture, where I saw myself standing. Both of my cousins were on either side of me, dressed in our favorite colors, laughing in the middle of a meadow not too far from the house. It was utopian.
My grandma took me in her arms and whispered in her quiet, singsong voice that she had centered the painting around my cousins and me because we were the center of her world. She then asked me to treat others with the same level of respect and kindness she gave to me. Without fully understanding, I promised her I would.
A month later she contracted lung cancer and soon passed away; it was my first real encounter with death. It crushed me. My beautiful, lively grandmother, shrunk down to a shell of herself as the cancer ravaged her body and took her away from me. My memory of my Abuela is something in life I hold most dear. She taught me to be honest and to work hard to achieve my goals—which at that time were to become an acrobat and animal rescuer. Today, I wish to pursue a career in political science, so that I will be able to benefit my community. The values of respect, family, and love for others my grandmother instilled in me, have caused me to take an active interest in the way that government can influence and protect the well-being of its citizens. Ultimately she taught me how to be passionate. My feelings toward my education are colored with the same bright yellows, sultry reds, and royal blues my abuelita gave to her artistry. Without her, I would not be me.