“Down the road the sun is shining; In every cloud there's a silver lining; just keep holding on; Find the strength to rise above; You will find just what you're made of”
-Lady Antebellum
Scientifically speaking, I am an organism capable of metabolizing, maintaining homeostasis, growing, responding to stimuli, reproducing, and adapting to different environments. Twenty years ago I was merely an embryo, then I developed within weeks to a fetus, and months later I emerged as a healthy ten-pound baby. Life begins inside the mother and for the first few years it cannot develop properly and healthily without maternal and paternal care. The explanation of who I am differs every time I ponder the question, but I have come to realize that my parents have a greater significance and contribution to my answer each time I think about it.
It has taken other people’s life stories to fully engage in my own story. My childhood best friend, Rebecca, recently informed me that her mom, also whom I consider a mother of my own, has been diagnosed with failing kidneys. Rebecca expresses her fear that while her mom is slowly dying she could lose her at any moment. Who I am in the midst of this situation is rather complicated. To Rebecca, I am a committed and fully supportive best friend. I have known her for fifteen years and have
shared endless memories with her and her family. They have always showed immense amounts of love and support toward me, from providing Kleenex at sleepovers when her mom knew I would be allergic to the sleeping bag, to giving me advice about prom dates. Rebecca proves to be the most selfless person to her mom throughout the diagnosis and treatment, which oddly to an outsider perspective at least, makes me feel incredibly selfish. I feel selfish in that while Rebecca’s mom has been diagnosed with a life-changing illness within only the past year, my own mom has been slowly digressing for nearly ten years and I have barely shown any sacrifice of my own in terms of her disease. My mom has Multiple Sclerosis, and while she isn’t in a severe stage currently, it is known that one only digresses and unfortunately there is not a known cure yet. Understandably, as a child I was oblivious that there was anything wrong, but in the past six or seven years I have become more aware of the impact it has on my family’s lives. I am ashamed by how little help and care I showed to her while I was still living at home. Looking back, and even in the moment, I realized how caring of a friend I was to everyone else, and regret that I gave my mom the least attention, despite the fact that she deserved it more than anyone. Because of this I am both sorry and regretful that I cannot relive the past years of my life in the ideal way in which I can now imagine. Yet this part of my story has given me reason to build a stronger relationship with my mom and I am slowly beginning to open up to her and let her know that who she is has helped develop who I am today.
My mom has the greatest sense of humor that exists. She has taught me to laugh at myself when I am embarrassed and to enjoy the smallest joys in life. I have also
learned from her humor that laughter really is the best medicine. Her jokes, laughs, and comedic relief to terrible situations make up only a small portion of her beauty. I admire her for all that she has gone through, and I am both sure, and ashamed, that I am unaware of most of her life adventures and experiences, despite the fact that she knows almost all of my life story. I strive to be like her, by selflessly giving to others and treating them with kind spirits, despite my own pain, disappointment or anger.
My dad is a selfless giver as well. For over thirty years, including all years of my childhood, he worked as a produce clerk at Safeway. He didn’t have an executive corporate job, or his own office, or suit and tie attire. Rather he devoted countless hours of manual labor, maintaining part of a grocery store. He worked graveyard shift for most of what I can remember, and it was strange to myself and my peers that he would be going to bed while I was only just been beginning my day at school. I remember one girl referring to my dad as a “vampire,” ironically his name does happen to be Edward. Anyhow, his hard work was all intended to provide the family with all we wanted and needed, and to ensure that we were happy. His permanently dry and cracked hands have a special meaning, in that they are small physical evidence of the hard work that I cannot appreciate enough. Through realizing that my parents’ hard work was to ensure my happiness and success growing up, I am forever grateful and aspire to live a hard-working and selfless life as well. I am extremely thankful of everything I have today, and all that others give me. I would not exist in the way in which I do today if it weren’t for the help of others.
As both my parents, I am a giver. I find genuine joy in giving to others. I can’t help but always think that in the greater perspective, anyone can use an extra hand or some extra affection. Senior year of high school and freshman year of college I had no
clue what I wanted to major in, which seems insignificant in the long run, but during these two years it is a required and deciding factor of the rest of any educational and career pathway. After exploring different subject areas, I came to the declare Sociology as my major. I realize more and more how much sociology means to me. It is heart wrenching and frustrating to read about the sufferings of millions of people around the world, yet I have hope and a deep inclination to help those who are less fortunate, those who are caught in the middle of a fast developing world. Why not use the resources and upward mobility we are able to create and obtain, to help those who lack adequate agency? I am so lucky to have grown up in a stable household with loving parents and healthy relationships. Having read in my sociology classes of endless accounts of abusive, harmful, dangerous, and disturbing family situations has given me many comparisons and reflections on how lucky and well off I am.
Having been so fortunate to grow up and develop in the way that I have, I take this as all the more reason to give back in the world. I want to make a positive difference in people’s lives. As mentioned, I am giver. I’ve realized that when I give to those who are close to me, I am a lot more vulnerable than I admit. I have no regrets for easily opening my heart to those around me, yet it is hard for me to react sincerely when I am not returned with the same love and care. I am a hopeful person, and amaze myself that despite every time that my hope is crushed, I find myself hoping for the same mutual feelings from a person once again.
I am a lover who longs to be loved. I am a jealous person, in that when I am
around my closest friends and see them in love, at times I want to crawl up in a ball full of sorrow in the corner by myself. I also am afraid of being alone. I can feel the energy inside of me that is longing to be engaged in a real connection with someone else who loves every part of me for what it is. This may be a fairytale or a fictional love story that has been created from stories and fake characters, but I am nevertheless allowed to desire it.
As independent as we want to believe we are as humans, our relations with others have a huge impact that most people neglect to account for. I’ve wished I could say “I don’t need someone to make me happy,” but my happiness generates from the source of all the people who I love.
Despite the pattern of rejection, who I am at my very best, is an energetic open hearted, free spirited lover. Sounds cliché, but I love to love. I love my parents, my dog, and my best friends. The truth is, in which I have uncovered while writing this paper, is that I even find myself unable to say that I don’t love those who have hurt me in my past. I cannot let them leave my heart. People who I have let into my lives, in a way, never leave my heart and soul. They may ignore my texts, move to a different city, make new best friends or lovers, never speak to me again, but I cannot help but appreciate them for who they are and genuinely care for them and hope that they are happy and healthy. I suppose this is the answer to why I have no enemies, or true hatred toward anyone. If I dislike anyone, I find myself feeling sorry for him or her because I conclude that they have internal and external stresses on their lives that are making them act in the ways in which they are.
At my very best, I am a burst of laughter and happiness underneath the beaming sun. At my best I am at the ocean. I long for sand beneath my feat and to hear the sound of waves crashing. I love the colors of the ocean, and I could watch the continuous rolling of the waves for hours. I feel at peace with myself when I am on the beach, and my body feels calm and less anxious knowing that I am at sea level in the wide-open space. Yet the second I run full speed into the freezing cold water, adrenaline rushes through my body. What was once soothing is now scary. The ocean terrifies me. It is the most powerful natural force and it’s deep blue shade hides unknown creatures and lives beneath it.
The outdoors brings out a special kind of energy in everyone. One of my peak experiences took place when I was kayaking with my three of my best friends in high school. Our friendship had nearly just sprouted, but there was a magical and effortless chemistry about it. They lived in a neighboring district to mine and I was being introduced to the hidden parks, pathways, and waterways in which surrounded their houses. After hearing I had never been kayaking before, they insisted we make our way to a nearby canal. Without enough concern, we disregarded the fact that it was very low tied and there was
only several feet of water. After an hour of paddling every which direction, including circling around each other, we reached a spot where we were stuck in the mud. Laughing in foolishness and anxiety, we dug our paddles into the mud and pushed ourselves out. We finally emerged out of the kayaks covered in mud. This peak moment remains forever remembered as full of joy, ecstasy, carelessness, and heightened emotions.
Being who I am at my very best means recreating emotions involved in my peak experiences. I am known as someone who is always laughing, and when I think about the physical act of laughing, it is nearly impossible to think or to worry about anything when you are laughing. Another act that frees my soul is baking. Modestly, it is possibly the only talent that I will claim having. I am a baker and I use baking as an outlet to release my stress and refresh my mind. As a matter of fact, I baked some red velvet cupcakes while writing this paper. My childhood dream, and one in which my parents still support, is to open my own bakery. I still imagine myself one day creating unique and sweet pastries in my own small café, but for now I am perfectly content with sticking to my own kitchen at home. Writing this down, I realize I am still incredibly comforted by “home.”
We are all familiar with Dorothy’s famous line, “there’s no place like home.” But she’s right. There really is no place like the home in which we feel completely comfortable and welcome in. I miss the home in which I grew up in, and as adulthood bears itself upon me more each year, there are many times in which I want to close my eyes, tap my shoes together and have the “good witch” send me with her wand, back to the worriless and innocent setting of my parent’s house.
I am still creating and deciding who I really am. Analyzing who you are is a vulnerable and difficult task. I have reached a higher level of growth through opening my heart and mind in the process.
I am learning to embrace what makes me vulnerable, because that is also what makes me beautiful.