Sunday night. This night has sort of a paradoxical connotation tied to it for me. It goes back to, for lack of a better (read: trite) euphemism, my extremely crappy childhood.
Let me explain. I was, like many of you, a child of divorce. I lived with my mother, saw my father on weekends (when he remembered he had a daughter waiting for him to pick her up) and dealt with all of the guilt, sadness, and overall wistfulness of being the kid caught between parents that hated each other. It was, as I mentioned, extremely crappy. And Sundays were the worst because that was the day that my father would drop me back off at home, and I knew it could be the last time I ever saw him. I would make my way into the house where my mother would be waiting, and if I looked even the least bit sad, she would launch into attack mode. “Oh what’s the matter—had so much fun with your dad that coming home to your boring old mother is too depressing? Well sorry I have to work two jobs to support us since that fun-loving s.o.b. doesn’t bother to pay child support….” And on it would go until her energy was spent and I was completely demoralized. My saving grace was, ironically, the fact that my father didn’t see me every weekend, so the times when I was forgotten actually saved part of my soul. Paradox extraordinaire, oui?
This childhood memory, glum though it may be, completely shaped the person I am today. For better or worse. What did I learn? Well, for one, I learned that being yourself and feeling what you feel has consequences. It seems like a crazy lesson, right? But it is one that I draw on to this day. I spent so much time trying to hide who I was and how I felt as a kid, that I eventually lost sight of who that actually was. When I was little, the price seemed way too high, what with listening to my mother rant and rave and tell me how ungrateful I was, so I really felt that masking my true emotions was worth it. And into my teen years, I sort of just grew accustomed to doing that. It wasn’t until I was living on my own that the impact of that mindset became clear to me: Nobody knew me. Oh sure, people knew who I was-my name was out there. But nobody actually KNEW me. And it was really scary, and really lonely.
I wish I could say that once I had this epiphany, my life magically transformed and I became a mature, well-adjusted, productive member of society. But, since I would never lie to you guys, I can’t say that because that’s not what happened. It took time. A lot of time, with a lot of very painful repercussions resulting from my journey of enlightenment. But, now, here I am. A bit worse for the wear, but soul utterly intact and identity firmly entrenched in each decision I make. Was it worth it? Absofreakinglutely.
So, now it’s your turn.
What childhood memory thus far has shaped who you are? Do you want this memory to be the blueprint for which you design your “true Self?” If the answer is no, think about how you can change your perspective on it. What can you learn? If the answer is yes, talk about how you can impact the world and those in it who are most important to you. What lesson would you want to impart that has its root in this memory? I know this is hard; take your time. Nothing worth having is ever easy. And this answer is worth having. Trust me.
(450-500 words/85pts)
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THIS IS HANNAH
ReplyDeleteI know I talk about this a lot in my blogs, but the memory that has shaped me the most is when my mom passed away. BUT, since I'd rather not talk about that, I will say that the childhood memory that has shaped who I am today is when I first found out my mom had cancer. I remember the day exactly: I was upstairs playing Wii soccer with my brother in my room. My mom, who had been going in and out of the hospital, called us downstairs. She sat us on both sides of her on the couch and said this: “The doctors told me that I have cancer. I want you to know that I'm going to be fine and please don't ever worry about me.” Those were her exact words and I sometimes hear her voice when I think of this memory. I gave her a hug and told myself it was going to be ok then went back upstairs to continue the game with my brother. After five minutes, I just started crying. I thought about all of the negative things I've heard about cancer in health class and I didn't want those things to happen to the person I loved the most.
I used to be the kind of person to never get mad at anything, no matter how bad it was. Now, the tiniest things can ruin my entire day and I usually say the wrong things and can't control my reactions. Since that one moment where I cried, I haven't been able to really stop. On the outside I have stopped, but there's always a part of me that is thinking about my mom and how I wish she was here. When one thing wrong happens now, it triggers my negative emotions and I get angry. Like in soccer, if I get pushed or something I will first mouth off to that person and then push them back. It usually always ends up in a fight and I face the consequences. Then I get upset because I just wish my mom was there at the game because I would never play that dirty if she was watching on the sidelines.
I don't want this memory to be the blueprint for my true self at all. I don't want to be the type of person who always gets mad inside, even when I don't show it, because that's not the way to live. I want to be the type of person I used to be- when I was always happy and did sports because I enjoyed them, not for the extreme competition. I think that I just need to now move on and focus on the future and not so much the past. I shouldn't get angry at stupid stuff because it's no one's fault, it's just the way things happen. The life lesson here is to understand that I need to make the best of everything that comes my way. I can't just sit around and feel sorry for myself and be upset, which is usually what I try to avoid.
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ReplyDeleteI did one thing all of my childhood to keep me going, that until today I still do. I live in my mind and heart, fabricating my own reality that I love far more then the reality at school or society. As I grew up I was constantly made fun of in every way possible. While living in Egypt, it was because I was "American" and only had one guy friend. While living in the U.S., well it was because I was "different" and at one point had no friends what so ever. This built on the fact that I NEEDED to find a way away from this, and not letting it effect my happiness. I sunk in my drawings, stories, television, and hanging on to the fact that my dad will make it all better, when he comes around.
ReplyDeleteFirst off I would like to say that growing up, the one thing through all the lessons my parents bombarded me with I came to realize that everything went back to our family. If the world was going to hurt you, your family won't leave you getting hurt. My immediate family is very close knit and through thick and thin we have developed a bond that I think as individuals we all needed. Though we might disagree and we don't always tell each other everything, we possess something really indescribable. At the end of a day of fighting and misunderstanding the rule of "respecting the adult, and caring for the young" would always prevail and put us back into our places.
So the childhood memory that absolutely will always be with me developed in the first eight years of my life. I lived in Egypt, my dad lived most of the year in the United States to support us. Each year I would only see him for a month or two. Each month he sent me something in the mail, pictures, a toy, or even just a note. Each week I got at least two phone calls. When I say "I", I mean I as in only me. Not my siblings, but only me. Reasoning? You simply can't teach a stubborn kid that family is everything when their dad was never there. My reasoning when I complained? My siblings lived longer, therefore they got more time with him and he needs to make it up to me. He still is. :)
I would come home from school or from playing outside everyday and ask my mom, "Today?" and she would either smile for the indication that I would get to talk to him, or she would tell me why don't I invite my best friend to play. Sometimes I would get so disappointed if I don't get a phone call or when feel forgotten that I would actually think he's abandoned us. I heard stories all around about daddies going, going, and Poof! gone. What amazed me was that at the verge of losing faith in my dad, he would come through and never disappoint me. He would sent me a fax on my birthday and surprises on holidays. Sometimes I would wake up to his face smiling over me and telling me that we have one hell of month to do as we please, until he has to leave. Again. One of the best times was when I was at my best friend's house and while his mom was fixing our kindergarden graduation outfits, he and I played tag and all of a sudden we heard a knock on the door. There was my dad, just in time for my graduation. My dad just always went through, he always made up for everything that I missed. He understood that I was different, and why I always had problems fitting in. His overly strictness wasn't what I saw as mean but loving and protective.
ReplyDeleteMy memory, I wouldn't want to say my blueprint, but part of it is more appropriate. Being the youngest child I wasn't just raise by my parents, but the entire family as a whole. These memories are just a big part that taught me that it's in people's hands to disappoint or not, to care or not, to pick up the phone or not, and most of all to think of the person that loves and is waiting for you. I learned that it doesn't all have to be bad, and that you can turn it into good. I learned that if I thought I was forgetting my dad's face, I could draw it and look at it as we spoke on the phone. I tried to make the best out of everything, until today when I see that my dad isn't as capable of having fun and do things that we used too, I try to just spend time even if it's on the sofa talking about the world. I want to be like that with my own family and teach my children that. I can't say I can impact the world but I can impact the people surrounding me by showing them that disappointment can really ruin someone. To never act like you are more then what you really are or if it's in your hands don't be lazy and simply disappoint someone without a thought. My dad showed me that I didn't need the approval of others, for a million friends, for anything but the few that sincerely care.
Deanna:
ReplyDeleteYou are one of the most beautiful, self-assured, determined women I know. To imagine what you went through… I never would’ve guessed. I also never would’ve been able to pull myself up, let alone become a more confident person in the end. Thanks for sharing; I know it probably wasn’t the easiest thing to write about, but I found your story inspiring.
My family is not picture perfect. We live in a suburban neighborhood, but there's no picket fence. I have both parents, but they do have their flaws. Everyone does. They fight, I fight with them, but then again, what family doesn't fight occasionally? My mother and I, we're complete opposites. If I am Harry Potter, my mother is Snape. Someone I constantly clash with but ultimately was looking out for me the whole time, in some way. My father is, very clueless. He is, basically the Hagrid of my life. Doesn't understand much of what's going on in America, would never hurt a fly. My mother believes in tough love, my father just rolls with the punches. I don't talk much with my sister. We have mutual friends, but we don't share secrets, we don't delve deep into our personal happenings. If one of us is crying, the other doesn't know why probably 80% of the time. My family is not rock solid. But, the rare times I have felt that connection stick out in my mind.
ReplyDeleteWhen I was in the third grade, my parents told my sister and I that we were getting a brother. Now, at first I didn't believe them because they always made jokes like that. "Alexis, you're adopted." "Alexis, I'm not your father." "Alexis, there's another baby coming." But, they weren't joking this time.
But, something happened that my mother had to get an abortion. Something was wrong with the baby and my mother didn't want the baby having to suffer all his life with extreme disabilities of the brain, heart problems, physical disabilities, she didn't want that for him- understandable- so she got an abortion. My mother cried so much. She just cried and cried and my father didn't know what to do. My father was broken-hearted at the sight of my mother in such pain, that he lost a child. So, I'm pretty sure that was the first time where reality hit me. I realized how unaware of the world I really was and how much family should be cherished. My parents are a trip, they really are. But I love them and I will always love them and no matter what happened between us I always chose them simply because I know, I have seen it with my own eyes, that if they lost my sister or I that they would completely break down. When I tried to run away and indirectly kill myself, my father saved me. When I was bullied horribly by Shelly in the sixth and seventh grade, when I overheard friends like JV and Kristie call me out for something I couldn't help, my mother stood up for me but it's because of that moment, that event that keeps me from slipping out the door in the middle of the night and never coming back to 198 Ardmore Road, because I know that in the end, I need to be here. I know that my sister and I are what gives them a reason to try and get better, to try and make up for all the tears and the clashing.
I don't want this to be the blueprint for my true self. A tragedy... that's nothing I want to look back on and be like, "That's why I am what I am." I would prefer that blueprint to be something happier, stronger, more beautiful. I don't want to define myself from the loss of a life. But, I did learn that life happens, death happens, this all happens. But, the girl that lives with me, Amirah, she said once that we don't stop learning from the people we lose, and that's what really makes them great. I want to, instead of looking at what I lost, and defining myself by what I lost, to define myself from what I have and what I have learned. And what I've learned is that I will die, I will give up everything before I let someone hurt this family. My father, my mother, my aunt, my sister, Amirah and Steven. Six people. My life here, it may be growing in hopeless conditions, in dirt, in darkness, but it grows, and it's mine. I'll defend it. I may not want to be defined by it, but I will accept that it is what defines me.
Hannah Straub -
ReplyDeleteHah believe it or not, I remember the day perfectly when you found out. I remember going in a chatroom with Kristie and Kelsey and a couple other people and just talking with you about your mother and trying to encourage you to chin up. Hah all I really want to say is that she's a remarkable woman to have passed and still be teaching you, as well as other people, about life and inspiring people. It's really good that you're able to share her with other people as well. It's something that many people who've lost parents find hard to do. I'm proud of you. :)
Manar -
ReplyDeleteThe whole idea of family always being there, that's good that your family lives up to that. My family does, just in not explicitly. Hah there's too much crap to dig through in order to get to that steel bond. But, I can relate to you, always being made fun of and wanting someone to save you. I was made fun of, and still made fun of today, for basically not having a chest. Has it scarred me to the point where I feel like I'm not beautiful? Hell yeah. Does it make me want to get surgery done when I'm older? It's on my mind, yeah. But that stuff goes away when you have people to catch you when you fall. It's nice, isn't it? :)
Part One:
ReplyDeleteMen don’t cry right? A stereotype, generalization and definitely a lie, my proof resides in seeing my father cry for the first time when I was ten. Why do I remember this moment that last for maybe 5 minutes? Because in those five minutes my relationship with my father was forever changed, In those five minutes my dad would never treat me like a kid, and in those insignificant 5 minutes he would always make me feel guilty.
He picked my brother and I up to take us out for dinner, a rare treat, and he had to talk about something important with us. My brother was all excited because that meant “Free pizza,” and I was just happy to spend some time with my brother and dad. When we got in the car, the mood wasn’t “ Let’s Bond and have fun,” the mood was more of gloomy as my dad barley said “Hi,” as we got into the car. He didn’t say anything the whole ride, it was if his lips were sealed, he kept leaning against his hand and sighing over and over until finally we pulled into the parking lot. My brother raced out because pizza is like his diet. Anyways, I carefully walked to the doors perplexed out my dad’s demeanor hoping that I didn’t do anything that hurt his feelings. Finally, we picked a booth and decided on what we wanted. Then my dad spoke, only five words, but five words that were powerful, significant and changed the way my father would treat me, “ I am getting a divorce.” What? Was the reaction of my brother in me, I mean my brother was relieved as he openly advocated his disdain for my stepmom on a daily basis, I mean I also supported with my snide remarks about her, but I didn’t think our opinions were that important. I mean doesn’t love prevail over all the boundaries trying to stop it? Then he exposed the whole truth, I mean everything about how she used him for money and how she was evil in every bit of way. That is wasn’t our faults, even though my brother and I hated her and that I was struggling and she couldn’t deal with my problems. It seemed like nobody could deal with my problems anymore. What happened next, was my dad cried, tears feel from his cheeks a man that I never thought I would see cry did. That moment, I felt bad I never wanted to see my dad cry again, so it was my duty to protect him. At that moment, even all the times he told me it wasn’t my fault, I knew it was. I knew that I couldn’t be the perfect daughter, the one that was normal, I had to have problems that he didn’t want to deal with and either his wife, so I knew that I would always have to take care of my father. It was evident because for a straight year after, my dad was depressed. He complained about his life, about having to paying for everything to his love life. I was no longer ten, I was his counselor feeling guilty for all the people that hurt my father. I wanted to change and also save my father from everything be the one that could make him happy, make him love me, and make him proud of me. The sad part was along the way I lost myself.
Part 2
ReplyDeleteMaybe seeing someone cry is insignificant, maybe it shouldn’t affect me so greatly, but it did. I know I am sensitive and truly it has shaped me in being the person I am and I learned a lesson that day. I didn’t realize until now until I experienced everything pertaining to my personal struggles. I was naive at ten thinking that I could save my dad that I could change and be the “perfect” daughter, but I couldn’t do any of that. Maybe the lesson I learned is that you must take care of yourself before you take care of others. Yeah, my dad’s life sucked at the moment and I mean he got over it, but I never did. I made myself feel guilty , I felt like a burden and this only intensified my self-hate and this led to destruction. Was he there to pick up the pieces like I vowed to myself I would be there for him at ten? NO! He wasn’t there not one bit, he was the one making me want to change, killing my insides, and never giving me satisfaction unless I was perfect. I just realized all these feelings right now. This minute, so to the world my impact may seem selfish but I know too many people that get caught up in saving others and losing themselves.
This impact I want to release to the world hasn’t only rooted from my dad crying it has been a long process believing that if I changed myself everything would be better. That maybe if I altered my appearance or changed myself I could keep peace and I would no longer be accountable for the guilt and pain I felt. What I learned and it took almost 8 years of my life, approaching 17th birthday, to figure this out. Don’t change yourself; don’t feel like you can save that one person because the truth is you will lose yourself. That person’s unhappiness is not your fault, and you just have to remember that your happiness is the key and that nobody is more important than you.
Deanna- Wow! You have guts girl, that was so touching and moving it was probably really difficutlt for you to express and I am soo proud of you for taking that step. I think revealing this helps me really understand more about you and finally with this uplifting story, I mean the end, I can finally understand the beauty of your soul. I dont know if that sounded really creepy but I think the past really does shape who were are and the beauty of your soul. I truly comend you and have so much respect for you!
ReplyDeleteDeanna - I wasn't sure if I was going to comment on yours because it really took me off course there. The way you confidently carry yourself, that I had already told I thought was related to arrogance before I got to know you, really only shows that you're very strong on your views. After reading this, your passion to fight for the female cause makes a whole lot more sense. The way you handled it is just awe-inspiring, and has me with a dropped jaw. I'm a very defensive person, and I feel the way you took from your situation, and the attempt to try and not hate men is amazing because I think I would have been traumatized and an even angrier person.
ReplyDelete"I hid myself away, and painted butterflies across my heart until it was safe to come out again." -this part literally had me at tears because I could relate and absolutely not relate at the same time. I'm not sure if it makes sense, but it really just touched me.
Alexis- Yes, it is nice because without the few people that caught me, I would have been absolutely different. Believe it or not, I was made fun of my chest also. Not because it was flat, but because I got it earlier then most. My growth spurt was a couple years earlier. I was called giant and all that good stuff. It made me wear big clothes, think of surgery, be ever so self conscious that until today I have trouble standing in front of people, but at the end I realized if the people that matter never cared, why should I care about the people that don't matter's thoughts. I can also relate to the running away part of your blog. I felt as my family fell into troubles, as the last "unplanned" child I was a burden. Until a year ago I was confidently planning on disappearing one night after my high-school graduation and relieving my family. I get that many children think of it, but I feel like many of us overlook that the people that love us will hurt a whole lot more if we abandon them with no assurance. So I understand why you wouldn't, your love is obvious for your family.
Hannah- This was also a very touching blog. I think I would fall apart if my mom were to tell me that. You always have composure in school but I can tell that sports is where you get to just vent all your anger and hurt that has affected you. I mean its not necessarily all that bad, but sometimes it's okay to cry to yourself every once in awhile. I mean you arent sitting around feeling sorry for yourself, your just crying because sometimes life is tough and sometimes it utterly sucks. Never forget that life is fun though which i know from your personality you dont. I mean I hate crying too but I feel it helps me more than when I get angry. I am not saying losing your aggression in soccer because heck you have to be aggressive in soccer. Just dont let your anger become so much of you, and I know you know that but I just want to remind you!
ReplyDeleteI think I’ve always been a trophy daughter. Around others, I get put on my little pedestal and get the ooh’s and ahh’s of passerby. But at closing time, the gleam of the trophy is painfully diminished when thrown in the closet, told it’s not shiny enough, and left to collect dust. Rest assured that the next day, the trophy is repolished, swiffered and restored to former glory in the eyes of the public. That’s me. I think my dad has always displayed me as such, and he’s always tried to appear like the perfect dad on the surface. He brags about my accomplishments, goes to my events, acts funny in front of my friends, you know the dad stuff. But behind closed doors he’s a child, one prone to stubborn refusal to understand and many a temper tantrums. He’s always been this way ever since I can remember his wall punching hissy fits that scared my mouth shut.
ReplyDeleteThough it may not be a single memory, the compilation of them spanning an entire childhood has shaped the way I handle conflict. I’m a break downer. Fear of personal criticism is severely overwhelming for me. When I’m told what’s wrong about me, mainly from my parents, I childishly burst into tears and cannot find the means to defend myself. Unfortunately for me, all of this has really just made me ok with being treated unfairly. I’m used to it and it takes weeks, even months to finally find the strength to say something about it. I am a bottler. I’ll take a lot of shit before I can’t take it anymore. Though this has made me fairly patient with others, it takes a toll on me. What this has also done is make me extremely forgiving. Too forgiving really. My dad generally has a tantrum then apologizes and expects that all is forgiven and I comply with the ridiculous, “he realized he did wrong” excuse. I’ve come to apply this philosophy to everyone and it’s amazing what people will do when they know that I have this forgiving problem. Somehow it computes for people that when easily forgiven, you can do just about anything without repercussions, unfortunately, they’re all right.
But through all of this, I’ve come to be a diffuser for other people. I’ve taken the role of my mom for everyone else but can’t seem to do the same for me. With all of my dad troubles, my mom was always there to be a voice of reason to simmer a situation down. Now I can do the same. On many occasions a friend will come in freaking about something, with a simple, “Listen, everything is going to work out” and a step by step plan, I diffuse the bomb and all is clear. (Eh hem Christina Hartzell and prom tickets =p) I wouldn’t have wanted this to be the blueprint of myself, but I’ve assimilated to it. It may not benefit me in the slightest, but giving the people around me an easier time or a helping hand is worth the price for me. You really just have to learn to find the silver lining. No childhood is perfect but we can either squirt ourselves in the eyes with citric acid, or make some damn lemonade, the choice is yours.
Taylor Palm -
ReplyDelete"Somehow it computes for people that when easily forgiven, you can do just about anything without repercussions, unfortunately, they’re all right."
That just, hah it's one of my pet peeves. I seriously hate that. I've had friends who have decided to weave in and out of my life whenever they want to, without any thought as to what I felt about it because they knew I would forgive them in the end, but that's just wrong. I love that you forgive people, but don't let people step on you! You have a lot of things going for you, and you don't deserve that at all!
Ready for a book? Sorry for the length. Once I started typing this blog, thoughts just kept pouring out
ReplyDeleteHe was adorable. Blonde hair slicked back so it rolled away from the front of his head like a wave, aqua blue eyes, a smile as warm as the summer sun… my heart melted. He joined Green Bank Elementary a few years prior to 8th grade graduation, PJ that is. He was funny, yet sensitive, and somehow more alluring than the other (few) boys in my class. Let’s just say I fell hard for him. Obsession provides a merely euphemistic description of my condition. I won’t go into much detail, for fear of sounding like a creeper (which I am not, now), but anyone who went to GBS will remember how I put his picture all over my locker and wrote silly love letters. Okay, creepy point made. He was really cool about it though. We were friends; he didn’t like me back, of course, but nevertheless he didn’t tease me or do anything else that would’ve crushed my fragile heart. Good guy
.
Once PJ arrived at Green Bank, and my “crush” on him took root, I began a slow but sure shift from carefree grade-schooler to the girl who sits at her computer typing away today. I began wearing different clothes, for suddenly the sweaters and khakis that Mom ordered from Lands End and LL Beans weren’t good enough; I needed to shop at Pac Sun like PJ. I cultivated a taste for butterscotch crumpets and nutter butter bars like PJ. I took a liking to softball… you guessed it, like PJ.
Essentially, in my mind, I glorified PJ like a god. What he did was the thing to do, what he wore was the thing to wear. Although he never, ever made fun of me (nor did anyone else, for that matter), I became ultra critical of myself. I suppose I found flaws and used them to explain my lack of appeal to guys. My hair became ugly—a gross, curly mess—and for the long year that Mom refused to buy me a straightener, I gooped hand cream onto my tresses and twisted two hunks of hair while smearing in the cream so they would lie down flat (don’t ask where that logic came from). My glasses, too, had to go, even though I couldn’t see the board without them. My eyes needed improvement via eyeliner. My bad eye (the one I can’t see out of) creeped me out, so I hid it from the world with a curtain of hair. I became obsessed with my looks which were never, and could never be, “good enough”. I was the ugly duckling in a lake of swans, the ugly duckling who would not mature into a swan but rather morph into a platypus.
My, erh, obsession, faded upon entering high school. PJ had a girlfriend, and I had tons of work to focus on. New friends came into my life, and PJ became a friend I saw rarely (mind you, I am no longer anywhere near obsessed; this crazy tale is a thing of my wacky and wonderful past). However, my poor self-confidence and self-image remained. The hair straightening, eye covering, glasses forgoing, and self despising continued. Sophomore year, things got better. I put away the straightener and put on the glasses (which were, by that point, beyond needed) and began to accept me for me. That continued more or less well through most of this year, though an inkling of a poor self-image always hung in the shadows.
ReplyDeleteSuddenly, BOOM, a month or two ago, something hit that turned my fragile, healing world upside down. Yes, it begins with a “g”, ends with a “y”, and has a “u” in the middle. The “PJ Process” began to repeat itself, minus the creepy obsession. I was beyond that. However, what I had repaired of my self-image not only crumbled to dust but also plunged to a new low. So far, I’ve restrained myself from putting my hair over my eye and pulling out the straightener (I would, but my hair still hasn’t grown out from my last bout of serious straightening, so the bottom half is dead and dry). I’ve kept the glasses, for not only would I be unable to see three feet in front of my face without them (I’m dead serious) but I also have grown to like them. This time around, the effects have been more internal than anything else. Self-consciousness has returned full force. I now try extremely hard to look half attractive, actually caring more than I have for a long time about how I look and once again wearing some makeup. Not so bad. However, I’ve also become extremely conscious of my “bad” eye, with surgery crossing my mind more than once (when I was young, my old eye doctor used to tell my mom about a surgery that would make my eye look more normal; I didn’t understand then, but now the idea is undeniably alluring). I can’t stand seeing myself in photos, and my discovery of a little something called “left gaze bias” (which basically means that when we look at a face, we focus on the side to our left—the right side of the face, hence the right eye) only compounds my dismay. I feel like a monster. Comments only make things worse; for instance, my mom tells me that she thinks my hair looks pretty in a pony tail (which makes my eye more obvious) and ‘ratty’ when I let it loose… I interpret that as “geez, if she thinks my ponytails “pretty” and I think they’re horrid, and I like my hair down while she finds it distasteful, I must look bad all the time, especially to others (Mom would love me, and tell me I was beautiful, if I looked like dog poop)”.
The PJ Process has also recurred f in that I’ve sort of, internally, “glorified” this guy “like a god”. Irrational, yes, but also involuntary. The principle difference between this situation and that with PJ is that we aren’t friends per se (and I would totally be happy with “friends”); I’ve sort of put him up on this untouchable pedestal without really meaning to. I’ve also put myself way, way down, such that I feel totally unworthy of anything. Also, over the years, my general lack of confidence has put me at the bottom of the social food chain. As I mentioned in a previous blog, I’m a bad “talker”, so even if I manage to get past my poor self-image (which every mirror I encounter pounds into my head), I would be left lost for words in his presence. Even if I was a swan, I would be a wordless one, a bland, boring, bird not worth an ounce of his time simply because I’m uninteresting and have trouble holding a conversation. Additionally, I’m often considerate of others to a fault, so I consider leaving him alone in his best interest. Really, it is.
ReplyDeleteOf course, I don’t want this to be the blueprint for how I live my life. I’m afraid that this pattern will repeat itself with any guy who manages to melt my heart, and that I won’t even be able to be his friend because of my lack of confidence and/or interesting traits. After freshman year, I convinced myself that I would be perfectly happy without a guy in my life, but recently I’ve discovered that my heart has an annoying way of rejecting reason and assuring me otherwise. If I can’t talk to guys like I’m a half normal human, how will I ever find “the one” who’ll be my hubby? Do I care? I thought not, but now I’m pretty sure I do. The loneliness would be overwhelming without someone special with whom I could share my life. I suppose that I could try to improve my self-image, but it’s hard, especially with my newfound knowledge of left-gaze bias. I guess the lesson is that even when I think I’ve overcome something, it can resurface and stab me in the back when I least expect it. The smallest flicker of emotion can burst into a flame, then an all consuming fire that singes not only my body but my soul. A guy, something I told myself would never again affect me, can shift the direction of thoughts and crumble hopes, when my eyes flash on a single silly smile. The road to happiness is filled with treacherous pitfalls, the most dangerous of which lie with myself.
You guys inspire me everyday.
ReplyDeleteAlexis B: I love your family, too. I always think of your mom as the Scrabble Queen, you’re dad as the “…” guy , and your sister as the girl that always saved our butts whenever we couldn’t do something. The “conditions” you are growing in aren’t as bad as you think. Just focus on the good stuff c:
ReplyDeleteJessie B: There’s nothing wrong with morphing onto a platypus! Dan’s nickname is Platty! Haha, but to be serious though, I thought the beginning of your blog was adorable. As horrible as you make it seem, it is not a crime to have a crush in middle school. And now for my main point. *sigh* Jessie, Jessie, Jessie, Jessie…Jessie. YOU ARE BEAUTIFUL! Don’t ever question yourself! If you ever, EVER find yourself wondering if you are pretty, just ask yourself “do fish swim?”
Taylor P: First of all, I love your twist on the lemonade phrase! I like how you learned from your mom and have learned to become a sort of mediator in situations. While, like you said, it doesn’t directly benefit you, I think it does give you some brownie points with Jesus :D I don’t think there’s anything wrong with forgiving people and accepting apologies. Just be aware that, after you forgive someone, the situation doesn’t have to maintain the status quo. For example, if I was married and my husband cheated on me, I would accept the apology and quickly file for divorce. That’s being understanding without being stepped on, nah mean?
Jessie - ABSOLUTELY DO NOT APOLOGIZE FOR THE LENGTH! I enjoyed reading every single word and found it very real, and sincere. I honestly didn't know the Jessie in my art was the Ap Jessie until about a month or two ago. Haha. Like Deanna said You Are Beautiful! Your personality is light and beyond friendly! I love conversing about art with you because you put your heart out there which I also see how that could be why that when you "crush" you really really fall for a guy. Don't change to please other's. People who are sincere will love you for who and everything that you are. By the way don't feel like a creep, you're just expressive :)
ReplyDeleteTaylor:
ReplyDeleteYour blogs are always amazing, and your metaphors manage to paint a smile across my face without fail. Anyway, I understand the forgiving problem. I do it too, giving everyone the benefit of the doubt and accepting the silliest apologies without a second thought. You always seem so strong and self assured though, so just remember not to let anyone totally walk all over you and you’ll be fine. ^_^
Manar:
I loved reading your blog! My family is really tight, too. We argue and we get frustrated with each other, but at the end of the day we still have each other’s backs. It feels so good to know that there are three people back home that care when my day takes a turn for the worse. My problem is remembering the value of family—showing appreciation for my parents and brother. Sometimes, I get busy or distracted and forget to say “thank you” or “I love you” when they need to hear it…
Deanna,
ReplyDelete“I hid myself away, and painted butterflies across my heart until it was safe to come out again.”
I cannot even begin to describe how much respect I have for you. To take a situation like that and find empowerment in the broken pieces is incredible. It’s an awful thing for a little girl to have to go through but you made what you could of it and have turned into a strong and beautiful person.
Manar,
“If the world was going to hurt you, your family won't leave you getting hurt.”
I wish this was true for most families, you’re incredibly lucky that it is for yours. I’ve come to find that this is the ideal instilled into our brains. That family is always there. It’s a ubiquitous theme, even Lilo & Stitch blasts “Ohana means family, and family means no one gets left behind.” But in real life, it’s not really so. I think family is the thing that hurts us the most. We have a crappy friend? Bye… but crappy family? You’re kind of stuck. The worst memories for me are all involving familial mistreatment from my dad and grandmother and I know my dad and mom had similar relations with one of their parents.
Jessie,
I hate when people are self critical, I really do. I’ve seen both sides of the self confidence scale and I can assure you the side with it is far better. You can’t expect anyone to love you, if don’t love yourself. You’re beautiful, don’t let anyone, especially you, make you believe any different!
I guess you could call me my mother’s shadow as a child. Wherever she was, you could find me right behind her. I liked to be hidden behind her. She was my shield. She protected me from everything. I was comfortable; I was content. My mom didn’t think this was a good thing though. If she shielded me from everything, if she did everything for me, how would I ever learn to do things for myself? This is why at an early age she began “Project Teach Kaitlin to be Independent,” which I initially saw as torture.
ReplyDeleteLittle Footsteps Preschool was step one. My mother would drop me off everyday. Then she watched me cry from the window as she left. I cried like you wouldn’t imagine. You would’ve thought that something beyond awful just happened to my poor little soul. I hated being apart from her. I felt like I was missing a piece of myself. I had to do things on my own and I had to start making decisions by myself. With my mother miles away, she couldn’t make them for me. Which picture do I color? What book do I pick from the shelf? This was now up to me.
Step two: PAL Dance. I was never and am still not interested in dance. I don’t like it. I don’t find it enjoyable. But from the age of four to fourteen, I participated in dance classes. It started when my mother entered me into it. When I asked her why, she said to teach me to do things without her. By throwing me out onstage on my own, I couldn’t hide behind her leg. I was in control of myself. I continued these classes because they simply became routine and I think in the end, it helped not only my independence but deal with situations that I wasn’t so thrilled about. I became able to step up and take them on.
Step three: 4-H. 4-H was something that I wanted to become involved with. I bought a rabbit and wanted to join a club where I could show him off. 4-H seemed like the perfect place. The only thing was 4-H had these optional presentations that members could participate in. Of course, my mom decided that these would be beneficial to me. I hated these presentations more than I thought it was ever possible to hate something. These presentations were on my time. I did my homework (even though there wasn’t much to do then) and then I had to work on my presentation for 4-H. I researched topics, created poster boards, and memorized many minutes worth of information to flood the judges’ ears with. Who would want to do this, for fun? Maybe some people, but it’s beyond my understanding.
Between preschool, dance classes, and 4-H, among other activities, I definitely have learned to be able to do things on my own. Although it’s an accumulation of events, it sums up my hectic childhood. My family was always stable, we were okay financially, and were fortunate enough to forego any major tragedies. Instead, most of my childhood was filled with these “activities” that I was forced to participate in to “make myself better.” Now looking back, I’m glad my mom placed me in them. It definitely has allowed me to become more independent and do things on my own. Of course I’m sure there was another way in order for me to develop this characteristic, but it’s the way my mother knew so that’s just how it went. I wouldn’t be where I am today if I were still hiding behind my mother’s leg. Not only did I obtain the trait of independence, but now I feel as if I must get involved in various activities in order to feel like I’m worthy. Of course, independence is a trait that I’m glad to obtain for it will allow me to prosper for the rest of my life, especially in the next few years with college. I want to be independent. I don’t want to have to depend on others to achieve what I want in life. I don’t want to have to depend on a man. By being independent, I will be able to do things by and for myself. Don’t get me wrong, sometimes I will need the help of others, but when a time comes when I’m stuck, alone, I will be able to thrive.
Childhood memories are supposed to summon a smile to your face and shine a little light on your heart. As cheesy as it may sound, I wholeheartedly believe that every person deserves that. But when I pulled out my Pensieve, the first silver strands that surfaced were negative- a coach whose constant degradation teetered on abuse, a random guy who called my dad the n-word, a reckless driver who made me think my dad was dead, my sister’s weeklong hospital stay, the tubes that kept my dad breathing when I was five, my parents’ fights, my own fights. But none of these memories have truly shaped who I am. To find the memories that have, I had to pull out those shorter strands located just along the edge of my memory.
ReplyDeleteThere, I found memories of going to Smithville, or walking the dogs through my grandparents’ development (where my family lived while our house was being built), or going to Hershey Park in December, or having huge, and I mean huge, family dinners at my house on Christmas, or even buying my first pygmy goat, Barley. I realized that these moments, which seemed so insignificant at first, are the ones that molded me into the person I am. These molding memories include my family and a smile.
Take for instance, my trips to Smithville. I had geese and ducks at home. Since my mom, a veterinary technician at the time, had either hatched or gave medical aid to most of the geese and ducks, the birds were used to being handled and were surprisingly friendly (except for Toe the goose who was cute but used to bite the tips of my shoes). When my parents took me to the park to feed geese, I assumed it would be just like feeding my own geese. Oh, was I wrong! I held a handful of corn in front of me and offered it to a tall grey and white goose (I’m not sure how tall he actually was since I was only about the size of Kelsey Cheek). The goose flipped! He ran at me with his feathers fluffed, neck reaching as far as it could, and wingspan doubled, but none of that compared to the death squawk he sent after me. I was a mess! But my mom, who found the incident funny but still didn’t like seeing her daughter’s tears, gave me a hug and my dad was there to lightheartedly tease me.
I learned from moments like this to value my family. When I make a decision, I always consider how it will affect my family. I try to make “I love you,” a regular occurrence. I’ve seen friends’ parents, parents who I’ve been close with, pass away, leave, commit suicide, become disabled, and the happy memories I’ve had with my family begin to shape my life even more. Over the years, I’ve grown to not resent my siblings when I’m asked to babysit and have to miss some social event. I’ve grown to take the opportunity to talk to my mom or dad on the way to soccer practice. I’ve grown to actually give a substantive answer to “So how was your day.” And it’s all because I have those memories that remind me of how great my family is.
I’m glad this is a memory that has shaped me. My ultimate goal in life is to have a happy family of my own someday, and I know that the memories I’ve shared with my family will be beneficial in making this possible. I may not have any major impact on the world because of this memory, but I hope that I will be able to share similar memories with my own children in the future (far future, just to clarify).
I think, of the many things that I’ve experienced in my childhood, the most prominent memory I’ve had is the first time I ever realized that I was gay. Now, I don’t remember the exact age that I found out but I know that I was very young. I think I was in pre-school.
ReplyDeleteYeah, it was that early. Mind you, I was still the little charmer. I remember being in Atlantic City at the Dover St. Learning Center getting the girls’ numbers and then calling them. I still remember the day I called “Ashley” and just talked on the phone with her. I still remember my mom smiling in awe of my guts to do so. Like I said, I was in pre-school.
But then, I started getting different crushes. I remember that I liked the body guard of our building. His name was “Greg,” I think. I remember coming home one day with my mother and as we rode the elevator up, I sighed because we walked by Greg. She asked me why I sighed, and I told her.
She hit me so hard that I don’t even remember the moments after the first hit. But what I do remember is her putting me on my bed and threatened me. She said that it was either I got hit with a belt or I left the house. Like I said, I was in pre-school.
I chose the belt. I chose to suck it up and just get hit. I tried apologizing but she was so furious that I was going to get hit regardless.
As I grew up, we moved back and forth to the Philippines. I had my phases. I had years where I liked girls, or so I thought. And then I had my phases where I didn’t. But now I like boys. And I don’t think it’s a phase anymore.
The thing is, through all that, I couldn’t figure myself out. I think this memory and the plenty of other memories involving my mother questioning my sexuality has triggered me to become a person who’s hesitant to admit who I am.
Granted, I’m much more comfortable with myself. I know who I am. But for some reason, I can’t tell my mother. I’m pretty sure she knows. I mean, I’m a firm believer of the quote, “A mother always knows.” But the thing is, I don’t know why I can’t tell her. Is it because of that memory? Maybe. But I’m not sure. Hell, the thing is, I still have times where I can’t even say the word “gay” in a sentence describing who I am.
One of these days, I’ll be able to. I just need to pass that gate that will allow me to do so. But this memory, I will use to do this one thing. I want to make sure that people know who they are and not be afraid to say who they are. I know, I know, I’m not at that point yet, completely. But still, I’ll try to make others do that to feel complete.
See, it’s happening to me right now with this boy that I like. Somehow, I really feel that he’s just like me. I strongly believe, along with many others, that he’s gay. But the thing is, it seems like he doesn’t know who he is. Like I said, for the most part, I know who I am. I want him to know who he is. I think that’s why I’ve latched onto him for so long. I think that I don’t care if he’d still like me or not. I think that I just want to help him out in knowing who he really is.
Deanna: I never imagined that you had to go through something so awful in your past. I’m glad you shared this experience with us though. It has allowed me to be able to understand you more. I now see exactly where your strength comes from. To experience such a thing and be where you are, you are definitely a strong person. I’m glad to see that such an experience didn’t cause you to shut down, like many others do, but act in a way to empower others, to show that you can come out of a bad experience stronger than before.
ReplyDeleteBrynne: I know how awful it feels to see your father cry. I can only recall seeing mine cry once and it was an awful feeling. I never want to see it again. As I said in a previous blog, I see my dad as Superman. Nothing affects him. He’s impervious to anything dire. I couldn’t imagine my parents getting a divorce. A lot of kids have to go through such a traumatic event and I feel so lucky that I haven’t. However, going through and making it out of such an event must make you stronger for if you can make it through something heartbreaking like that, events in the future may be less likely to affect you negatively.
Jourdan: First off, I love your reference to Kelsey Cheek’s height. I suppose you’re justified to make short jokes since black jokes are sure to be fired your way. Anyways, I’m glad to see that you learned a valuable lesson from the positive moments in your life. You could’ve easily reflected back on a bad time, but chose to see the positive as one of more importance. I wish everyone was able to have positive memories as the ones that have impacted them most.
Deanna,
ReplyDeleteWhen I read your second paragraph, my stomach dropped. I don't know how to describe the emotion that I felt after reading that. This past year has gotten us a lot closer and hearing that made me angry. See, I wanted to know if you ever told anyone? I wanted to know if any justice was served. Deanna, you, or anyone else for that matter, should ever face anything like that. I'm glad that it has made you into a much better person and for that I applaud you.
Kaitlin,
ReplyDeleteThe entire time you told your story, I could picture a little ginger child hiding behind her mother. I could see your little sweater that you wore in those pictures in your living room. But that's beside the point, I think that's it good to be able to become independent. I was just amazed at how much you were able to withstand ten years of doing something you didn't like! I wouldn't have been able to do it.
First off let me just say that I am beyond lucky. Beyond fortunate. Beyond blessed. I know they are all close in meaning but you’ll see why I believe this. It was late at night; it was a Friday night to be exact. I had spent the last few weeks going back and forth between my house and the hospital. My life pretty much consisted of school, home, hospital, homework, and repeat on a seemingly endless loop. This loop only lasted about a month though but this month seemed so much longer. My grandpa that I have lived with for my entire life was in the hospital. The problems started a while ago, endless doctor visits and even a 911 call. He was getting older and his body was giving into age; but to be specific his heart was giving in to age. He was having difficulties walking and breathing and he had fallen in the house a few times. I can even remember catching him once as his legs gave in. My family is very close, we stick together and watch out for each other so all of us made efforts to make it to the hospital each day that we possibly could. The specific memory that I have though, the part that really shaped me was the night when all of our hearts were on the line. The doctors told us that they didn’t think he was going to make it. He had congestive heart failure and he needed surgery. The problem was they didn’t know if he was strong enough to survive the surgery but if he didn’t have it then his arteries would become completely blocked and he would die. At one point they even told us that his arteries were 99% blocked and he could go at any time if that 1% became blocked also. Die though? I’d never lost anyone, I couldn’t really wrap my mind around it. But we were all there for him. We sat in his room, the whole family, half of us in tears. I tried to avoid crying, I didn’t really want him to see me crying; I had to be a little stronger than that. My cousin walked in the room and walked right back out. While the family stayed in the room I went out and looked for him. I found him at the end of the hall sitting on the floor in tears. I sat next to him and tried comforting him, saying things would be okay, but I think even he could see I was not confident in my own words. This specific cousin had a reputation of being the tough guy. Yes I had seen him upset before but not since we were very young. It was an all around scary and upsetting night. But there’s a good ending to this. My grandpa DID survive the surgery. And after a little while he came back home. Now see why I’m incredibly lucky? He still has problems here and there but he’s still going.
ReplyDeleteSo what I got out of this whole thing was that lives are meant to be lived. They are meant to be lived to the fullest potential. It is something that I want to live my life by. I know things can get worse before they ever get better but I don’t want any bit of hope to be lost. Even though I was unsure when I told my cousin that everything would be okay I still had a spark of belief. I sometimes say that I don’t think things will work out for the better but in the back of my mind I have hope that things will work out. I think I always will be this way. I want there to always be hope for something positive in the future even when things do not work out in the present. I plan on cherishing every moment I have with the people in my life. Life has some unexpected twists and turns. So I’m going to hold onto each day and have hope that each one will be good even if that is unrealistic.
Brittany,
ReplyDeleteI felt the same way when my sister had her surgery for her lungs. It was a horrible thing to feel that her life was on the line. But I'm the same way as you hoping in the back of your mind that things will work out. I'm extremely pessimistic at times, but truly I hope for the best. I'm glad that everything's okay with your grandfather and that it gave you a belief to stick by.
Kaitlin,
ReplyDelete'If she shielded me from everything, if she did everything for me, how would I ever learn to do things for myself?'
Thia actually made me laugh. I grew up in an extremely protective household. I was kept and shielded from everything. My parents thought the exact opposite of yours. They believed in doing everything for me when I was younger, and then leaving me on my own when I got older. Fortunately for me, I hated being protected, and I broke out early. But I shudder to think of what I would've been like had I followed all their rules...
Deanna,
I remember when you told me about this, and you have no idea how much love I felt for you at that moment. And I still love you.
BUT! I wanted to comment on something else, hehe.
'...not the type to boycott men, but the type that shows being a woman and being womanly is never a downfall. '
I don't know why, but this made me flashback to the time when we were discussing the type of house we wanted in Japan [after I mentioned something about concrete doors..]. I remember you talked about how much money you would make after you published your book and what you would do with it. Charity and some other options came up, but then you focused on another outlet instead. You said you would buy the rain forest to piss off all the corporate guys who were making money off of cutting down the trees. xD I'm pretty sure we laughed for a good ten minutes on the thought of them shaking their heads and thinking 'Darn it! Women and trying to save the rain forest..' Hahaha.
Hannah,
I remember the impact that this news had on our class as a whole. We all know your mom, and we adored her as well. I'm not entirely sure if this song came out in the same year, but the song 'Move Along' by the All-American Rejects suddenly became our anthem. I even remember texting you some of the lyrics from that song when something bad happened. Even now, when I hear that song, I think about you and your mom. You've grown so much, and I hope that you continue on that path into the future.
'When all you got to keep is strong
Move along, move along like I know you do.
And even when your hope is gone,
Move along, move along, just to make
it through.
Move along.'
Jessie- I feel like a total idiot reading your blog. I didnt realize that you were talking about "PJ," i thought you made up a code name for a boy you liked. Anyways, I like wanted to cry when I read your blog because I think it was so adorable but also it's actually how I feel. I mean I have always wanted to be that girl confident in myself, not finding my imperfections every second and not always wanted to care about how I look. I mean I guess what I want to say to you is I totally understand the way you put yourself down because you felt inadequate to his "godness." I have never personal put someone on a pedstal and worshipped them but I totally have insecurties within myself that have been derived from people who make me fill inadequate. What I want to say to you is that all girls feel insecure even the prettiest ones you may look upon who seem to have self-confidence plastered on their forehead. "figuartively speaking." Now I dont know if I am making sense but I really honestly connected to your blog because I see a lot of me but in different circumstances. Anyways, I think that people who arent self - confident in themselves will always be struggling with acquiring it, yes it will be a long battle but one day I think that you will come to realize how beautiful you truly are! The plus side is that when you realize this your prince will come along. I know that had nothing to do with all I said but I am really wordy!!
ReplyDeleteAfrica used to be my everything. It still is in a way. I often find myself, especially lately, longing to go back to the family I barely remember and the lions that roam free. Okay..I exaggerated a bit at the end; they were elephants, not lions. Anyway, you get the point. I used to think that there was no other world beyond the one that I lived in. I was content and constantly looked forward to starting kindergarten with the rest of the kids in my neighborhood. But it was after my fifth birthday that my plans started to go downhill. My father was in the Peace Corps, and was stationed to be in Namibia for only 2 years. In those two years, he was to only teach English (grammar, not the language) to a school of children in a small town. He was not allowed to fall in love or get involved with any woman from Namibia. Lucky for him, he found a loophole. He fell in love with and married my mom [ a ZAMBIAN native, not Namibian ]. He started a family and began to establish a lifestyle in a land he now called his home. Eventually, those two years became eight, and the Peace Corps was still sponsoring his stay there. The January after my fifth birthday, my father got a telephone call. They were calling him back to America, and he had to leave us behind. There was no way he could refuse, so he returned to New Jersey for about a year until he was allowed to bring us over.
ReplyDeleteNow, at that age, I had no intentions of moving anywhere. Especially America. It’s not as if I had anything against it. I mean, I knew my dad was born there and that’s where my grandparents were, but I didn’t want to restart my life all over again. I spent most of my time crying my first week here. In Africa, everyone knew everyone else. People were friendlier, and it wasn’t uncommon to start a conversation with a random stranger. Here, that didn’t go over so well. I remember my mother having an especially hard time with the culture change. Before, it was so natural for her to just start talking to anyone who greeted her. But when she began to notice that it just earned her a rude comment or a strange glance, she had to bite her tongue. It didn’t help either that we looked so African, it was unbelievable. I went to school on my first day with a shitenge and head wrap on. Children aren’t exactly nice, and it took a good month before I was comfortable enough to even talk in class. I became increasingly uncomfortable with myself, and I even started to hate my own culture. Originally, I complained about having to move to New Jersey, but it then I began to complain about having to be anything but American.
I remember being embarrassed by the slight accent I had at the time. I remember being embarrassed when I had to go out with my mother. I remember trying to hide the fact that I wasn’t born in the U.S. I tried to get my mother to hide her accent and to speak English clearer. Now that I’m admitting it, I’m more embarrassed about even having those thoughts. It wasn’t until second grade that I fully began to embrace myself. We had culture day in one of my classes, and my mother came to school without my knowledge. My heart stopped when I saw her, and every fiber of my being was praying that she wasn’t there to speak. The moment she did start speaking though, I realized just how much of an idiot I was being. In hiding my background, I was inadvertently hiding who I was in general. No one knew who I really was, and no one would ever know if I had continued living like that.
ReplyDeleteEven now, it feels weird to remember a time when I wasn’t proud of admitting that I’m Namibian. I love it now, even though it does come with the occasional, ‘LOL at Gwen, she was born in a hut! >:D’ It sounds a bit cliché, but I really learned to love myself from that memory. I learned to embrace my differences and to encourage others to do the same. I know that there are plenty of people in the world today who still feel like they need to hide their culture. It saddens me, because there’s not much that I could actually tell them to change their mind. It something that you have to realize within yourself, and I sincerely hope that they find that part soon.
“Our greatest strength as a human race is our ability to acknowledge our differences; our greatest weakness is our failure to embrace them.” -Judith Henderson
Jessie: First off I remember the PJ process and you have definitely changed since then. Certain things do resurface in our lives now and then but it’s a learning process. You learn from it and decide from there what you want to change or keep the same. So the PJ process may resurface but I definitely think you are strong enough to challenge it. And you are beautiful inside and out so stop doubting yourself jess. :)
ReplyDeleteBrynne: “Don’t change yourself; don’t feel like you can save that one person because the truth is you will lose yourself.”
I agree that you shouldn’t change yourself for anyone. I think that it is perfectly fine to help others as long as you take care of yourself first. It’s difficult to help others when you haven’t taken the time to help yourself. But if you are okay with yourself and you’ve established who you are, knowing that you won’t change yourself for anyone, then I don’t necessarily think helping is a bad thing.
Deanna: I don’t know you that well but all I can say is you are amazing. You are definitely a strong person and your goal to show other women that they are beautiful is incredible. With that much strength I think that you will be able to do anything and everything that you set your mind to. You are such an inspiration; I can’t even find the right words to describe it.
When you spend all your time being someone you aren't, you forget who you really are. As many of you know, Port Republic isn't the most diverse place in the world. When I went to Port School with sixteen or so other kids who all had a lot in common, there was a very strong push to conform to the typical Port mold. That was apparent from a very young age; it's amazingly grim how our minds develop social rules, barriers, and stereotypes so early. As you can imagine, it was hard for someone like me who always felt a little different from the rest of the kids at Port School. There was a girl in my class who wasn't from Port Republic, she lived in Galloway but her parents paid tuition to send her to Port. She seemed different than everyone else, and maybe that's why I wanted to be friends with her so badly. I remember devoting much of my social life in grade and middle school trying to become her best friend. It was obvious that she didn't really want to be friends with me, she was, a lot of the time, really mean to me. The point is, I changed myself, even at such a young age, so much just to try to please her. Over the several years that I knew her, I became an entirely new, empty person. I remember, under the influence her, being mean to people who were normally my friends. I remember saying things the real me would never say, because I knew she would approve. This girl ended up transfering to Galloway's middle school. It turns out she has gotten into a lot of trouble with drugs, among other things. Fortunately, I'm not like I was anymore, coming to Oakcrest helped me a lot. It's been a long journey, but I've reclaimed myself, and I am back on track to figuring my life out.
ReplyDeleteThat girl I so desperately wanted to be friends with taught me a lesson. Changing yourself, even just a little, for another person is a slippery, dangerous slope that leads to forgetting who you really are. Finding yourself again can be a long and painful process, and you will never get back the time you spent as the shell of a person you became.
This lesson has led to other principles I try to hold myself to. Always standing up for your beliefs. Not compromising on the issues you feel most passionate about. I want to use this determination and undying commitment to my beliefs to make this country and world a better place through the medium of, you guessed it, politics.
What I want all of you to take from this post is the importance of being yourself. Never let anyone change you or your beliefs out of fear, shame, or the want to belong. I let that happen once, and I never want to go through that again. Nobody should experience that kind of loneliness, emptiness, and guilt.
Deanna- I never knew that about you, as I'm sure most people don't, but that's a good thing. It's good that you are able to put it in your past and learn from it. A lot of people aren't able to do that and they let it bring their life down, but you gained something because of it. That's awesome :)
ReplyDeleteBrynne- Wow that must have been hard on your dad, because Father Kess doesn't cry! I'm sorry that all happened.
ReplyDeleteAnyway, I liked your blog a lot because of how you sort of developed as your were writing. In the beginning I don't think you knew where you were going and what you learned. But it shows in your very last sentence you learned how to take care of yourself. You're right- you should never change yourself for someone else. Golden rule.
^ those 2 comments were done by HANNAH
ReplyDeleteDeanna: You are an incredibly strong and amazing person. Most people would not be able to take anything positive out of such a terrible experience. Your ability to forgive is another testament to your strength. With those abilities no matter what you do you are going to be amazing at it.
ReplyDeleteGwen- Believe it or not, I relate to this sentence a lot: "I tried to get my mother to hide her accent and to speak English clearer." When my mom was sick she had a tumor in her tongue which slurred her speech and everything. I tried to hide it and not have people over, I even lied when people asked if my mom was sick. I usually said no and that I didn't want to talk about it. Now that I'm a little older I regret this every day of my life and the burden is always hanging over me.
ReplyDeleteI guess at the time it feels embarrassing, but we shouldn't hide who we really are just to impress other people. At least we can realize it now and we won't do it again.
-HANNAH
This is the most trouble I have ever had writing a blog. There are many things that have changed my life, but they all seem insignificant compared to what others have been through. There have been traumatic incidents in my life, but they were never the things that changed me the most. In order to answer the blog question fully, I suppose I will write about the little things that have, in fact, changed my life, but just keep in mind that I am in no way trying to belittle the horrors that you guys have experienced.
ReplyDeleteOver the course of my three years at Oakcrest, many people have asked me why I am not more involved. The most recent example of this occurred the day after Student Council elections, when someone in my Spanish class asked me why I didn’t run for anything. The obvious answer is that I am not a part of Student Council, but her question made me realize that there was a deeper reason behind my lack of involvement. Like most of my issues, it could be traced back to Mullica. During the transition between seventh and eighth grade, many of us were inducted into the Mullica chapter of the NJHS. When it came time for elections, I decided to run for something (president, I think, but I am not certain). I lost, because not too many people liked me back then, which I was perfectly fine with. What I wasn’t fine with was the comment that some girl made immediately afterward. She said, “How does it feel to lose something for once?” She said it very resentfully, like the only reason I lost was because people were tired of me trying to do well. This really bothered me, and it ultimately led to a period of about four years where I tried to hide who I was. During this period, I basically stopped talking to people, and I subconsciously tried to be more “normal”. However, as others have already mentioned, trying to change to fit other people’s expectations has a terrible effect on your soul, and those years felt extremely empty to me. Just recently, I have realized that I am most “normal” when I am just myself. I haven’t seen that girl in four years, and those around me now actually like me for who I am (well, sometimes). After a four year, basically friendless hiatus, my confidence has returned. Just being myself is fun, and I really don’t care if some people don’t like me anymore. It’s important to stay true to who you are, no matter what obstacles get in the way.
This memory is definitely the blueprint I use to determine what my true self is. It is so important to keep your individuality, and I am much happier now that I stopped letting what people say change how I behave. In the end, being yourself ends up bringing those who are similar to you close to you anyway, so what is there to lose? Those who are similar to you will obviously respect you for who you are. Though not particularly earth-shaking, this lesson I learned is important, and hopefully I will not make a similar mistake again. I’m finally happy with myself again, and that’s basically all I can want out of life.
Tay Palm:
ReplyDeleteI know what you mean about being too forgiving. People have taken advantage of me and used me because they knew I wouldn't fight back. I've changed though. I'm not closed or cut off, but I've stopped making excuses for people who have hurt me. I also am less afraid to tell people how I feel. I realized that being kind doesn't have to mean letting people walk all over you.
Deanna N:
ReplyDeleteWords cannot describe how much respect I have for you. I thought your drive was admirable before, but after reading this, I am absolutely amazed. It's also great that you have decided to not give up on people. I'm sure that almost anyone in that situation would never come back out of their hiding place, but you have, and that's a feat in itself. As far as your standards for male friends go, I think that should be everyone's goal. Self-improvement is key to success, and anyone who is just content with what they know is letting their lives go to waste. I try my best most of the time, but my drive pales in comparison to yours. To know about your past just makes that effect even greater.
JV:
ReplyDeleteYou'll know when it's the right time to tell your mom. Before I told me parents I got this feeling that I couldn't take hiding it anymore, like it was flowing out of me. I had this feeling of resolve, like there was no option of hiding it any more, I had to tell them right then and there. When I told my parents it was hard for a few days, but then I felt so relieved, like telling my parents was one of the hardest things to do, but now I didn't have to worry about it anymore. I was free.
I never really had a home when I was growing up; never a place where I was comfortable enough to call home. I remember bathing in a sink in a trailer in Wildwood as me, my sister, my brother and my mom were hiding from my dad. I recall running from the babysitter at the shelter because I just wanted my mom. I have the memory of staying very quiet in the basement of my Aunt while my family and I hid continued to hide from my father for weeks. I can picture the garage I moved to after my father was finally in jail… then the trailer… then the other garage in which my sister and I lived in the attic. Overall, I remember not having that home that all my friends have had.
ReplyDeleteThat memory will always hold a place close to my heart and it has had an impact on who I am. From that, I do want to keep holding this memory near and dear to my heart and make sure that I always remember it and keep the lesson close to me. Though it hasn’t always been easy, it’s been a lesson learned and for that, I will always be thankful.
I want this specific memory and lesson to remain as the so-called blueprint for which I design my true Self and live my life for many reasons. First of all, I want to be proud of who I have become, no matter where I end up. I want to make myself happy, if I fail to do so with those around me. When I compare myself to my friends and how they still live in the house they always have with the parents they’ve always have had, I’m jealous and it’s hard not to get upset. But this memory, and the lesson that I want to take from it, keeps my chin up. I want to grow up knowing that no matter where I have been, I’m greatness; no matter where I will go, I’m greatness. And that is all said with no cockiness whatsoever, really.
For those around me, I want them to know that no one can use their past, present or future against them. One thing that worries me is that when I have kids, I won’t be able to give them a place to call home and they will have the burden that I do. When I own my fashion magazine, I’m scared that I’ll come off as a cocky woman that sucks at life and only has the magazine because she’s so terrible that everyone is really laughing at her. But my story – I want that to show people to never give up, no matter of the background that they come from. I want my impact to be legendary, like Martin Luther King Jr. or Michael Jackson.
Kaitlin H:
ReplyDeleteI can see how dealing with something for that long helps you get better at dealing with things you don't like, but I wouldn't have done it as long as I had a choice. Usually, the things that you don't like dealing with aren't voluntary. This was, so I probably wouldn't have submitted myself to the torture. Actually, now that I think about it, maybe I would have. What else but a subconscious desire to make myself hate life could make me sign up for Calc 2 next year? At least you have had practice dealing with things like that. I'll be stuck wondering why I did all year, while at least you can say it is in the name of self-improvement.
Deanna - I read through your blog and I sat at a loss for words. I read through everyone's comments to you because I didn't want to say the same thing as they did, I knew you'd be getting at least 20 comments saying "wow".. but hey, that's all I can think of. Saying this might not change how you see yourself, but you're a BEAUTIFUL WOMAN. I creepily (=]) stare at you and think "Wow, she's gorgeous and so intelligent" (and yes, I've done this on more than one occasion :|). Your writing is amazing, your passion is amazing, your beauty is amazing... Hell! Everything about you is amazing. Don't ever doubt yourself, okay? I wish we were closer so I could constantly tell you how I look up to you on a daily basis, but I'll just have to start now. You're one of my idols - and that's not because of this alone - and I think you should know that.
ReplyDeleteJourdan - I actually heard you telling me every sentence in my head rather than me just reading it. I don't know why, but your writing as popped out to me, finally! Ha! But I can hear your voice now and I think that's great. You've become so great at expressing YOU through it, just as we all have. Oh, how I'll miss AP Lang and making fun of your blackness.
ReplyDeleteHannah Banana - I remember when Kelsey called me about your mom two years ago. I met her a few times, and I never expected the reaction that I gave after those words flew from Kelsey's mouth. The day she took us to the mall when Hollister opened flashed into my mind and I lost it. The friendship we had had become so amazing that I felt apart of me break. For as long as I live, I'll never forget that Hannah Banana Strauberry Milkshake that I have grown to love.
ReplyDeleteStephen W:
ReplyDeleteThough the reason for changing ourselves was different, the end result was the same. Both of us have discovered that it is better to just be who we are and not try to change for other people. I suppose my point wasn't that insignificant after all. Also, I can imagine just how conformist Port would have been. I witnessed similar things at Mullica, and it wasn't even that small.
On Monday when I read the blog topic a plethora of life changing events came to mind. I began to realize that all of these memories were negative. It was rather depressing to realize that I am the product of “bad” memories. Despite that fact that some people think I live an egotistical or even perfect life incenses me to no end.
ReplyDeletePerhaps throughout junior year I have matured enough to recognize different everyday occurrences and see them through a new perspective. Even though I have pretended to be fearless, I am not. I have literally run away, hidden, and cried to avoid all of my problems. Avoiding a problem or conflict is my forte. Since junior year is still lingering, I have no idea how these different events have shaped me. I do see changes in myself, but not ones that have fully developed. The time and place to discuss the event that has shaped my life the most is not over a blog because I feel like I need to see the people I am expressing this emotion toward. Yes, I am probably avoiding the question, but trust me the answer will come out soon enough.
When I was around twelve years old, I quit gymnastics. (That was a life-changing experience in itself, but that is a long complicated story.) Throughout all my years of training, I had one coach that stuck by me through everything. From the moment I stepped foot in that gym, barely knowing how to walk, she took me aside and knew I had talent. After this, she stuck by me as a coach (taking me to all of the meets) and also as a second mother. We had a strong bond, to say the least.
Prior to my twelfth birthday she asked me to be a junior bridesmaid in her wedding. Around this same time, she was also moving into the house I own conveniently located right next door to my house. I spent every moment with her. During gymnastics we would be inseparable; I would spend all of my time at her house, even sleeping there for weeks straight. Our bond was stronger than two sisters, and she looked out for me as if I was her own daughter.
One day I woke up and she was gone. All of her stuff was gone and she moved out without saying goodbye. Up until recently, I would lay awake thinking and crying about what could have happened. I would cry and think up different schemes to find her. E-mail seemed logical, until I was crushed by the one sentence response I received. Even though she does not work at the gym anymore I knew she visited and I planned a trip around hers only to receive the cold shoulder and not a word when I said hi. My last resort was facebook. After she accepted my friend request, one night I gathered enough courage to talk to her. She told me she can’t come near me or my house anymore and that I will eventually find out why. To this day I still think about her and wonder why that had to happen. I feel as though she has forgotten about me. To feel forgotten is one of the worst feelings. However, I know she has not forgotten but there is something hidden in her actions.
That day has shaped my life in many ways. I am different toward people and adults. I trust no one because when you give someone everything, you’ll end up flat on your face. If this is the blue print to my “true self,” I would be happy. All my life I have trusted people that have let me down, it is just a fact of life. Too many times I have tried to give each person the benefit of the doubt forgetting what people are capable of doing. The idea of this blue print is to decipher who I can and cannot trust. This decision will directly impact the people I know and love. If I trust you, I would hope that you would not break the trust because once you lose my trust it is hard to gain it back. I would want to show the world that there are people that do actually care and one day they will be found. The lesson I would tell people is be cautious. In field hockey, the defense controls the offense. It is easier to win the war if you are playing defense. Take a step back and look at everything around you, before you make your move.
Jourdan- I feel like every time I read one of your blogs I am used as a comparison to something small. I am flattered you think about me when writing your blogs.. loser. “I try to make “I love you,” a regular occurrence.” Being a teenager, it can be hard to remember the people we truly care about. I know that saying those three simple words before you leave in the morning can make a parent’s day. I personally have not used the words in a while, because I have not had the same family values instilled from memories like the one you presented. I am glad you have realized families are an important part of life and that you need to value that love. That is something you can take with you for the rest of your life.
ReplyDeleteKelsey - Your vocabulary stuns me ;)
ReplyDeleteLucas- “It is so important to keep your individuality,” the part of your blog that truly struck me was what the girl said to you after you lost the election. I have had those exact words spoken to me on numerous occasions and it is extremely hurtful. It feels like people hope you fail. However, through this rough situation you saw something to learn from. Individuality is an important part of life, yet most people strive to be like someone else.
ReplyDeleteYou should not compare your memories to the ones of our classmates, different people go through different situations to learn and grow. Your situation was a perfect example!
Deanna,
ReplyDeleteThe second I read that your friend's father touched you, I felt like I gto punched in the stomach. I started crying. I don't know how someone can do something so horrible to a little girl. Even now, when you said you had been sexually assaulted again, I don't get it. It just makes me hate everyone for ruining something so pure and innocent. I don't know how you were able to do it. I don't know how you were able to take a tep back for reflection after all these years and decide that you wanted to let your inner beauty show. I am so proud of you. P.S. in all honesty, you are the prettiest girl I know and that's even without your personality. You amazing self confidence and intution is just a bonus! :)
The world is bliss. Well, that's what I thought as a child. “Nothing bad could ever happen to me because I am invincible!” I told myself. I could be beautiful without even trying; I could be out-do any one of my Kindergarten pals without lifting a finger. And my parents, whom I praised with near god-like awe for the first 6 years of my life, could always bail me out. I had full faith in their judgment. I used to hold so much trust in my parents by the mere fact that they could, say, “magically" change a light-bulb, "magically" fix my computer, or "magically" make all my childish mistakes go away. This façade was something I learned to regret as I continually discovered horrendous details about the world and life in general.
ReplyDeleteWhen I was six, I had a period where I was unusually vulnerable to common childhood diseases. One week it was the cold, two weeks later it was the stomach virus, the next month it was the flu! Each time my parents would hand me various medicines that came in different shapes and colors: pills, liquids, tablets that dissolved, etc. Like I said, I trusted my parents. Yet, one night before I went to bed, my mother left me sitting on the counter to drink a dissolved tablet. As a curious first-grader, I decided to, for the first time, read the label of the box the tablet came from. Under "Use," were the words "To relieve heartburn." Under "Direction," were the words "For adults 50 and older...Children under 12 years: do not use" I was six. I had a cold. And I was taking heartburn medicine for the elderly! My heart sank and I froze for over five minutes. I thought of all the other medicine my parents gave me. I looked through all the other medicine bottles in the cabinet and found absolutely none directed towards children under 12. Immediately, I poured the medicine in down the drain and left bewildered and confused. The next time I was sick, with a stomachache, my mother gave me this odd, white sphere with Chinese letters on it. Inside were about a dozen small brown pills. The moment she went into the other room, I reached for the box and read "For menstrual cramps." Again, these went down the drain. A few months later, my older sister had ringworm on her shoulder and my mother made this "onion-wrap" for her to cover her arm with. A few minutes later, my sister complained about an unbearable “burning-sensation." An hour later, she emerged from the bathroom in tears as her ringworm was covered with second-degree burns. At that moment, I vowed I would never take any sort of medicine again. Let my immune system do the work. And soon, pouring things down the drain became one of my childhood pastimes.
That was just the beginning. The roots, I guess I could say, came from the drug-abuse of my past. However, the ultimate climax of it all occurred right before I entered high school. It was the catalyst of my deep dive downward, but also my ascendancy towards the sky and beyond. This single event I have never told a single soul, so I didn’t see it fitting that the first time I tell anybody was on this blog. Still, the blueprints of my life stem almost 99%-ly from the moment(s) after my silent freshman year.
ReplyDeleteWhat I can say is that what happened right before high school is similar in nature to someone else's blog. The facade was broken down in its entirety and I was left helpless, alone, and, unfortunately, I was muted for a year. I felt the same betrayal, but in a much, much larger magnitude, as I did when I was six. I lost a lot of things: my hope, my faith, my confidence. All of which, I gradually gained back and am striving to multiply by a thousand before I graduate. However, I still can never get what I thought was my inalienable right to have as a woman. (Let me make it clear that this was an indirect consequence of what happened.) The most beautiful ability of the world was taken from me before I even came of age to fulfill it: Pregnancy really is a captivating thing. To have the dynamism of life so close that it’s within your grasp, within your control, within...YOU…well, it's practically GODLY. Though I do not prize the events surrounding pregnancy and birth (squishy babies that throw up all the time, bleck!), I cannot help but glorify the idea of being pregnant. I occasionally joke around with my friends by saying things like, "I don't a baby or sex or whatever, but I just want to be pregnant! One day, I'll be a surrogate mother!" It's all an act, though, because I know the only time I can ever be pregnant is during Halloween.
Now, what I think is interesting is the fact that what shapes people the most is a horrible event. What can seem so appalling now will later turn out for the better. These painful childhood memories and even current memories only serve as the downward push in order to gain momentum to reach higher, above and beyond. For instance, my older sister was also affected as a child and now she’s in college to become a pharmacist. If I’ve learned one thing, it’s that everything does work out in the end.
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ReplyDeleteLucas:
ReplyDeleteI’ve had the same thing happen to me. And it really hurts because I feel like the only place I can excel at is at school. Thus, I take every win and cherish it because while it may be many to some people (which by now, I really doubt), it is really just one of the few gains I can find. I ask myself why I’m not involved in school too, but then I realized that I would rather run a treeline than run for president of so-and-so. Being who you really are is most important because a name like “president” can only last until high school ends. And frankly, the time spent in high school (outside academics) is not that important in the grand scheme of your life.
Stephen:
Okay, before I say anything, let me tell you I’ve been study for the history test on Friday, so History’s been on my mind. Okay. So. While I was reading, I randomly thought about the KKK video Mr. Cervi showed us. (Sorry! I know it’s strange!) You said “Always standing up for your beliefs. Not compromising on the issues you feel most passionate about” and I thought of how the KKK members from the video are passionate about their hatred for non-whites. Yes, your point is very inspirational and I’m absolutely certain that you can excel in politics. I just thought it might be interesting to show you your point in a different way. Sometimes, standing up for what you believe in is dangerous. But for the most part, I agree with you: People should always stand up for what they believe (because most people are moral, rational people. Unlike those white-supremacists).
Gwen:
“Okay..I exaggerated a bit at the end; they were elephants, not lions.” Haha! This made me laugh! Also, “I know that there are plenty of people in the world today who still feel like they need to hide their culture.” Yes there are. And I’m afraid I might be one of them. My parent’s taught me absolutely nothing about my culture. For instance, their excuse when they tell their friends why we don’t know how to speak Chinese is that we “incapable of paying of attention,” which is complete non-sense. It’s sad that there are so many other parents like that who just don’t tell their children anything. And remember, when I told you I don’t want to be identified as an “Asian” (I don’t remember if I did tell you). But anyway, it’s the same way people call you African, I don’t want to be named from a continent. That’s why I like how you say you are Namibian rather than African. We don’t call ourselves “North-Americans,” how dumb!
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ReplyDeleteRoo- Well, I finally think I have figured out why Bunje always gives us the same assignment. I think by reading your blog I did not only learn a lot about you, but I learned a great deal about myself. Even though your personal story was about something completely serious I could not stop from almost laughing at the end discovering how much we really do think a like. Some of our fears and our worries are the same yet we live two totally different lives.. or so we thought. I admire your ability to stay strong during that situation. I know you are probably confused about this comment, but I will explain everything. You and I need a long phone conversation, or talk in school...
ReplyDeleteSo...my aunts are self-destructive. There is no other way to describe it. Alcohol has made their lives, and everyone else’s around them, crumble.
ReplyDeleteMy Aunt Cheryl was diagnosed with liver failure after years and years of heavy drinking. She died about two months after she got the news. The hospital could have given her a kidney, but they didn’t think she was responsible enough to handle having a new one and not drinking. I don’t remember her opening any bottles when I was around, but she certainly had a collection of empty bottles on the counter every time my sister and I were over her house. After we realized that she needed help and she wouldn’t get it, the only thing we could do was to threaten her with visits from my sister and I. We didn’t see her for years until she was in the hospital on her death bed. When she finally died, my grandparents were distraught. They blamed themselves for bad parenting even though it was clearly not their fault. They got a little bit better until a year ago.
My Aunt Lori just got her second divorce. She like her older sister is addicted to alcohol. She does things like lighting 200 candles in her house and falling asleep with them lit, mentally abusing her two sons (one is 12 and the other is 10), and assaulting police officers. Her sons frequently have to call my grandparents and ask to be rescued from the hell they call home. My aunt has no job because she’s irresponsible and lazy, and now that she is divorced, no home. She is on the run from the police and she has yet to go to court for her assault hearing. Alcohol has ruined her life, her husbands’ lives, her children’s lives, and her parents’ lives. In my opinion, it’s only a matter of time before she’s dead from drinking too much.
ReplyDeleteThe point of this blog is not to say that I’ll never drink. I will. I have. The lesson that this taught me is that your family comes before anything. When I have kids, I need to be responsible for them. I can’t just drink myself to death or do something stupid like not getting a job because I don’t feel like it. Being an adult means that you are self-reliant and you have some iota of self-respect. My aunts have also taught me that you need to be careful about what you do because it would affect the people around you. If you choose to piss away your own life, don’t get pee on the lives of your family. Irresponsibility causes pain to other people, and it’s important to shield your loved ones from pain.
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ReplyDeleteOkay though I'm done my blog and comments, I'm sorta weird and I still read almost all of the blogs because they fascinate me.... and well I just wanted to let Simon know your blog was hilarious and I think you shared a point that many over look or take situations for granted.
ReplyDeleteTo everyone else, this blog definitely opened this door to viewing each other in a different light and I really wish there was a way every single human could see the experiences people go through because it really explains a lot about our diverse personalities. You all are pretty awesome. G/n for now bloggers, I'll be reading the rest later.
Fat.
ReplyDeleteFat. Fat. Fat.
If there is one adjective that I have ALWAYS been able to apply to myself, even as earliest as kindergarten, it is the word fat. I mean, the kids at St.Lukes Pre-School validated that. A couple years later, so did the kids at Rhawnhurst Elementary. And, even after moving to a different state, I could not escape that word from being used by others to describe me. This word is the most poignant memory of my childhood…and present-hood.
I’m no Barbie-doll…I have my flaws. I know what they are, so I never really understood the point of having other people point it out for me. I’ve done everything from diets to seeing specialists in a hope to help me reflect the person that I am on the inside, on the outside. As you can see, this word and the things that surround it have had a huge impact on me. And I wouldn’t change that for the world.
Through having my exterior be less than what I, or anyone else for that matter, really wants it to be, I have been able to focus more on ME. The inside me. The person I want to be. The person I am trying to be. Don’t get me wrong, I eat very well and I exercise everyday in a hope that eventually all of my hard work will pay off, but in the meantime I focus on making myself a better person.
I think that growing up an overweight kid, and going through high school an overweight girl will help me in the future. Not only have I gained knowledge in the realm of food, exercise and overall health, but I have learned how to look inside yourself and find who you are and truly want to be. Even though I’ll always be insecure as a result of the things I’ve been through, my knowledge an experiences will allow me to help my children grow up to love themselves no matter what. I believe that I have mastered the art of loving myself for me, and I can only hope to share that with others.
Divorce. Oh, how I loathe that word and everything related to it! The actual divorce of my mom and my dad when I was three years didn’t actually shape me in the molding I’m stuck into today; It was the aftermath and the effects for the years to come. My mom divorced my dad when I was a pun three year old. I was too innocent and pure to know of these complications of life. But Daddy, after a while, became less and less present. Eventually, my mom became the king of the castle. I could care less; I was the little princess in her own little fairytale. My head was in the stars. I was oblivious to child support, court dates, and those awful visitation disputes. No, I cared about lollipops and Barbie dolls. Until I grew up.
ReplyDeleteI may not be the most mature kid on the block, but I feel as though I’ve faced reality much earlier than most of my peers have. My mother and my father’s divorce, in all honesty, was brutal. One of the first memories of my life is of my parent’s fighting. When I was ten, my mother told me that my dad cheated on her with another woman. I think that’s when it really affected me wholly. That’s when I also finally realized how big of an ass my dad is. Anyways, the aftershock my sisters experienced was being passed onto me. Now, I was the one whom was carrying the torch of constant migraines and utter depression. Fairytales were just a bunch of mumbo jumbo. One of the scars I’ve gotten from my childhood is the hassle of being the child squished in the sandwich of divorce. My mom tells me to hate my dad. My dad tells me to hate my mom. It’s as though I HAVE to choose a side, or else I will break their heart. I was the one whom had to decide visitation hours. I was the one whom had to amicably settle my mom and my dad’s disputes. I was the misfortune messenger whom sent angry death threats across no man’s land. Yes, my dad was an asshole, but I was sick of my mom forcing me to hate him. He’s my dad, and as much of an asshole as he is, I love him. When my sisters broke my mother’s heart by moving in with my dad, I stuck with my mom. When my mom broke my dad’s heart my marrying another man, I stuck with my dad. I didn’t want confrontation; I wanted family. But, I never had a “real” family. This screwed up life was all I had got.
So, the majority of my childhood was a tug-of-war battle between my mother and my father, and I was the rope. I feel as though the divorce was so much more than tears and heartbreak. It’s about being strong. Without a strong heart and a touch of optimism, I looked beyond my parent’s divorce. It’s about learning life’s hidden cruelties. At times, I cried myself to sleep and begged God why he made my mom unhappy. At times, I begged I had a different life. But, I grew up. I moved on. From those dark years of my childhood, I became a tough cookie. This is the raw “blueprint” of myself. Ironically, I publicly portray myself as a drama-queen-cry- baby. I can be extremely sensitive at times, but when it comes to fighting and family, I am strong and I don’t mess around. I instinctively switch on “adult” mode and try to settle out any kind of fight. Seventeen years of constant fighting gets annoying after a while.
I distinctively remember my parents fighting over me when I was three. Apparently, my dad failed to watch over me, and I eventually fell down my staircase. I have a tiny scar to prove this instance. Anyways, this memory of my parents cursing and screaming their brains out is embedded in my mind. And to think, I was always three years old. The one thing I will always remember from this dark memory: life isn’t all toys and candy. That's why every child learns to become independent and raise a family of their own. I know my parents loves me, and I know they didn't intend to hurt me. Actually, I feel as though they mutually helped me. They helped me become the independent woman I am today. Thanks, Mom and Dad.
Kaitlin:
ReplyDeleteI really like how you cited multiple memories. You shined a light on the fact that people are shaped by multiple events throughout our lifetimes. I had a really hard time choosing just one memory or even a group of memories because I feel like so many things have turned me into the person I am.
Roo,
ReplyDeleteBoth of our blogs have kind've the same theme. In the end, we want to protect our family. I understand where you're coming from, though I've never had to go through something that horrible. I think we both understand the importance of respondbility to the people we care about the most.
Ever since I can remember, my parents have been very protective of me. Not the creepy helicopter, checking on me every five minutes way, but the sheltering, making decisions type way. From my first day of school until about my first day of sixth grade, my mom chose my outfits, fixed my hair, packed my lunch, and fixed my breakfast. Side note: I am not at all as lazy/dependent as this makes me sound, my mom was a stay-at-home-mom so she enjoyed doing all of this stuff ☺. Anyway, I had no decisions to make whatsoever. Peanut butter and jelly or turkey? Already decided. French braid or pony tail? Already decided. Dress or jeans? Already decided. As I grew older, my parents have backed off tremendously with the decision-making, but I still feel like my pre-adolescent lifestyle has effected me in a negative way. I am sure that at the time my parents thought that having everything laid out for me would allow me to concentrate on my school work and still leave time for fun, which it did. However, it has backfired now that I am seventeen years old and have the hardest time making decisions. Because I never had options growing up, I can’t specify which thing I like best compared to the others. My favorite color? I don’t know, I like all of them. My favorite food? Another good question… My favorite thing to do? Umm… You get the point. The most recent situation that led me to realize that I cannot make decisions was prom dress shopping. I tried on a beautiful green and blue tye-dyeish gown that my mom absolutely loved. I wasn’t so crazy about it, though. Next, I tried on a bright purple, simple yet gorgeous dress that I fell in love with, but my mom didn’t like as much. When it came time to choose, I didn’t know which to pick. I could have picked the blue and green one to make my mom happy but I didn’t know if I loved it. Actually, I didn’t know if I loved anything. Over a decision so trivial, I felt like a compass with a broken needle. How was I supposed to know what I liked and didn’t like? It hit me at that moment that my childhood inhibited me from learning how to formulate opinions.
ReplyDeleteIf this memory were to be imprinted in my every move, I would not be living the life I strive to live; I would be allowing other people to live through me. By not being able to express my opinions, I would be making decisions based on other people’s standards and therefore never experience personal growth. Although it doesn’t seem like a life-altering problem, this childhood memory in particular has definitely shaped me negatively and does not reflect the “true self” I want to flaunt to the world. If I remember my childhood as times when my parents helped with everything, and I lived virtually stress free, this memory can be recalled as a great one.
Through all of this, I’ve learned that I am my own priority right now, so I need to make decisions that will please and benefit myself. Going back to the prom dress fiasco, you’ll be glad to know that I chose the dress I fell in love with, and I’m now starring at it as it hangs on my closet door. I guess reversing my cycle of pleasing others might be easier to break than I originally thought.
Deanna: You're blog must of been incredibly difficult to right, but your confidence and trust in yourself was apparent throughout your writing. I appreciate you sharing such a private horrible thing with us, and it really helps me understand you more.
ReplyDelete"I think I’ll dedicate the rest of my life to showing other women they are beautiful, too." That's exactly what I want to do in life, all my goals revolve around that :)
You're beautuiful; inside and out!
Kristie: "When I own my fashion magazine" I love that confidence girl!
It seems like you've been through hell, but your strength from it is astounding. Your ambition is always noticed, and it will get you where you're suppose to be! I'm glad you are able to take such an experience and make it into something good.
Kelsey: I can't even imagine being that close to anyone. Like you, I carry the weight of not being able to trust anyone with everything, and honestly, I don't see that as a bad thing. It has obviously taught you a lot in both sports and your relationships with friends. Hopefully, one day, you'll find a person you'll be able to trust as much as you did your coach; changing your whole mindset all over again!
JV,
ReplyDeleteI'm happy you know who you are. I, thougn, always assued your mother knew. I thought you had told her you're gay, but not I see I was wrong. I understand hy you didn't tell her again though, and I think it's perfectly okay. I truly beleive that ignorance is bliss and what she doesn't know, or just doesn't want to admit, won't hurt her. I'm just happy that you can accept youself for the beautiful, unique, and divalcous person that you are.
Deanna:
ReplyDeleteFirst off, I love you. I'm glad that we became best friends in history last Thursday (even though you forgot by study hall). You truly are one of the strongest women, heck, people, I know (and I'm not just talking about those cannons on your arms) and I stood by that even before reading your post this week. I'm honored that you feel connected enough with the class to share such a memory. You had me ready to cry because you really drove home the fact that that sort of thing can happen to anyone, no matter how undeserving of it they are.
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ReplyDeleteTo Deanna:
ReplyDeleteYou are beautiful, intelligent, passionate and compassionate. You ARE all these things and no thanks to the creep that destroyed a pure piece of your childhood. Dont give him any credit. You are how you are because of who you are not because of what that jerk did to you.
I have all the respect in the world for you, Deanna and I just wanted to let you know it.
You are truly my hero. You did just back down, you made yourself stronger.
You are my inspiration.
JV:
ReplyDeleteI couldn't imagine not being able to share such a huge part of me with my mom. I can relate to not telling my parents things due to the belief that perhaps ignorance is bliss, but most of these things are relatively trivial and won't be a fact for the remainder of my life. I hope that when the time is right, you can tell your mom and she will accept it.
To kelsey :
ReplyDeleteKel, I was thinking the same thing as I read your blog. You are the mini white version of me...( or am I the King-size paki version of you? lol).
But on a more serious note,I have to admit not trusting people has alot of perks.You almost never get hurt. I just cant imagine living any other way anymore... lol
To Lauren
ReplyDeleteYOU GO GIRL! Fight the power!! lol For a second there, i thought you were going to go with your mom's choice. :P
To Chrissy:
ReplyDeleteI'm so sorry that you had to go through that tug of war. I know it must have token a toll on you.No child should have to choose between their parents...Sometime, it seems, parents act as the children while children act as parents.
Deanna:
ReplyDeleteWow. It’s weird how we are forever hearing about similar stories in the news, unfortunately most with tragic endings, but always think that something so terrible could never happen to us or someone we know and love. I am proud of you for turning a grim period of your life into inspiration to help other women who are going through the same things. I know you’re going to change the world one day… I’m rooting for you! ☺
Chrissy:
I can’t imagine the struggle in which you grew up. Sometimes I take having a huge, loving family for granted even though I shouldn’t. I can’t say that I know what you’re going through, because I don’t, but it’s funny that your blog was on the topic of divorce. I was talking to my mom about this weeks question and she was telling me that when her father was a big grouch all of the time, she promised herself that she would only marry a man she absolutely loved, and that her children would unconditionally love as well. Hopefully your past experiences will help you make wise decisions in your future, just like my mom. ☺
Alix:
I know it’s cliché to say that “what’s on the inside is all that counts!” but it’s true! You are a beautiful person inside and out, and I respect you for that. I’m going to sound cliché again, but you can’t base your life off of what other people think of you. Everyone has their flaws, and the people that point them out to everyone else are the biggest jerks of all. Stay true to yourself and what you believe, and everything will work out the way it’s supposed to. ☺
Uroosa-
ReplyDeleteThanks. That irony sure is a bitch, isn't it?
It’s been difficult for me to recall anything that has ‘shaped’ me some way, especially from my childhood. There is not one significant event that has shaped me into who I, completely and currently, am. Instead there are events that have filled in a part of me. I’ll begin with my fifth grade year. It was one of the best years of my childhood. I loved my teachers, they were one of the kindest teachers I‘ve ever had. I loved my class, I was basically good friends with everybody in it. And I loved recess! I remember playing basketball everyday, with my two close friends. Everyday was just sunshine and ice cream rainbow sprinkles. Then rolled in sixth grade where my friends and I departed into different classes. We still got to see each other and so we were still friends. Nonetheless, the year was fun but not as great as it would’ve been without my close friends by my side.
ReplyDeleteHowever, my first middle school year was just the opposite of the previous years. I remember I wasn’t really fond of my teachers nor my classmates. There was no playground. I was aware of cliques, which I didn’t know existed yet because according to the Lizzie MgGuire shows, cliques existed in high school. My close friends ended up having the same lunch period as me. I thought of this coincidence of a harbinger of being friends forever. After many days of their accompaniment with their own group of close friends, I’ve realized I was just a friend. Nothing more. Or maybe an acquaintance, or not even that. I was just somebody that you said only ’hi’ or ’bye’ in the hallways but never somebody you’d actually have a conversation with. I was compelled to a state of silence, since I wasn’t close with anybody anymore. This has provoked my quiet side. A side, I’ve always had but never really showed that often until seventh grade. I became the loner. I grew accustomed to having no real friend. I didn’t go about my days hating my life and hoped I’d one day fall off a cliff. I ended up being fine with it, eventually. I convinced myself that I didn’t need any friends. Me, myself and I is all I needed. It’s good to be independent right?
Sadly, that just isn‘t true most of the time. Being so socially isolated has shaped me into a reticent person, it‘s uncontrollable. I can’t give all of myself away, I haven’t ever either. However I can’t hide and shun myself from the outside world thinking everything in my life will go fine. I eventually did need a friend, especially when I grew older. Like I was going to go to my parents and get smacked by talking about boys, or getting a failing grade. My family is just family. But friends take a load of crap off of me. Still, there I’m that quiet me that doesn’t share her inner feelings as often. Occasionally, I’ll share complaints but that’s mostly about it. Would this be my blueprint for my true self? Yes, because in life you will definitely need a friend, somebody that’ll pick up some pieces of you here and there and try to put you back together. At the same time, however, being independent taught me to be in control with myself with whatever I do. I mean all you have, in nothing else, is you. Sometimes you just need to just sit there, like I did at the lunch table and observe my surroundings. It helped me see that people change, that life goes on and it also shaped me into a person that moves on with it always looking forward for a new day, a new chance. As a result, I’ve learned to have a taste of both worlds.
I know I've talked about it a lot, but I really as though the only childhood memory that ree-hee-hee-hee-eally (Scrubs reference, people =] ) has had a significant impact on me would have to be the day that my "mother" moved out. And, every day ever since. It's a bad relationship that we have, but not in an abusive or extremely negative sense. She just isn't a mom. Or a parent for that matter. She;s not that "cool-best-friend" mom either. She's just a waste of space.
ReplyDeleteI really try to be nice to people, and some of you have witnessed how I view my "mother." So, you can tell that those words are the nice version of what's on my mind. The blog doesn't ask how I feel about my mother though, so I'll save that rant for some other time.
That night was in early Octobe of 2002. My then-best friend had an older step brother whom my mom had become rather friendly with. Well, that night, she informed my sisters and I that she would now be living with him instead of us. She wasto leave at eight o'clock that evening, and we would be seeing her in a few days. This was unbelievably hard to deal with. I was nine years old, and I didn't understand any of it. All I knew is that my dad was crying, and he NEVER cries. So I kn ew how serious it had to be. The next day was spent with my sisters and my dad, who until then, never really had time to spend with us. (He was always working two jobs to support us since my mother wouldn't). It taught me a lot about people, and family and love. Now, I am a lot closer to my dad and sisters and I feel as though this experience has helped to make that possible. Over the years, I have been exposed to the lies and trickery and manipulation and promiscuity and everything else that my wonderful mother has to offer.
And it makes me who I am today. I ahve grown to hate, and not tolerate, bullshit from anyone. I do not appreciate being lied to, especially because she still to this day lies to me on an almost daily basis. I have the perfect, clearest image of what NOT to be, and I never thought I'd say this, but I have her to thank. It's probably the only thing she's given me.
All in all, I am glad that she moved out, as she has shaped my personality into the one that you see and love today. =] The lesson: be real. Not the keep-it-real, but the genuine, happy, and true kinda real. I want to be true and honest to people and to impact them in the same way my mom has- only the positive manner, not the negative bullshit she has pulled thus far. They can see the real me and a god example of a good person, and that is enough to make a difference of any size.
To Kristie:
ReplyDeleteI found your blog to be so inspiring. We all come from some screwed up beginings ( from what i read in these blogs) but none of us have let it keep us down. Especially you . You are so outgoing, that I would never expect you to have such a rough start.
Cheekers:
ReplyDeleteYour height, or lack thereof, perplexes me, so it comes up quite frequently (if only it literally came up... sorry, couldn't resist). This may sound impossible, but I look up to you. You always seem so tough, but I don't want you to think that you have to be or even that you should be. I remember how much I looked up to Rachel Carlson, again, figuratively, because she seemed so tough and on top of things. Then I remember one night she was upset and let it show. My opinion of her changed, but not negatively. I thought about how she was so tough and so strong and such an athlete, but wasn't afraid to show a little emotion. I admired that she shed a tear and expressed herself. I'm not saying to lose all holds on your emotion, but don't always try to come off as fearless- it takes the most guts to show people who you are and how you feel.
Lucas-
ReplyDeleteI’m so glad that you finally saw beyond what that girl told you. It seems to me like this girl was clearly jealous of you, so she resorted to saying some petty comment. You shouldn’t have listened to her, but I could understand why you did. You’re not the only one who lets little comments get to your head. Anyways, the word “normal” is so cliché for me. You’re right: the only form of normal that I’m aware of is when I’m myself. Most kids in this school probably don’t consider me “normal”: I’m loud, sometimes annoying, and like to sing out my conversation. But that’s me, and that’s my norm. They should deal with it. And they should deal with your superb achievements, whether academics or just anything in general. This lesson will probably confront everyone in their lives at some point or another, and you are lucky you have learned it at an early age. Anyways, kudos to you!
Pooja- I love how your blog starts out with "Everyday was just sunshine and ice cream rainbow sprinkles." It was cute! But then your tone shifted and I didn't expect that. I think it's great how you realized so young how people truly are; it took me years to get that smack in the face and I sometimes wish it would have happened sooner.
ReplyDeleteBrittany Oh! : Omg your blog made me cry. "My family is very close, we stick together and watch out for each other so all of us made efforts to make it to the hospital each day that we possibly could." reminded me way too much of my Uncle Mike. I am so happy for you that everything worked out and got better. We have the same optimistic views- but sadly it took a loss to create mine. You are right, you are waaaayyyyyyayayayayyayayay beyond lucky!
Chrissy: I am so fortunate that my parents' divorce was not like yours, and I just want to give you mad respect for going through all that. They say that what doesn't kill you only makes you stronger, and your story proves that theory!
There have been countless negative experiences that have shaped who I am and how I do things. My life has been characterized by the downwards spiral of my parents and the effects it has had on my life and mindset.
ReplyDeleteI had everything I could ask for as a child. I received every item I requested. I was the pride and joy of my parents, family, and friends. My parents were ideal parents and I was their ideal son. Today, I describe my situation quite differently. My parents are selfish, tainted individuals and I am their struggling son.
When I moved from my grandparents house on the outskirts of sunny little Hammonton to a wooded area of bustling Mays Landing, my life slowly morphed into what it is today. My parents had finally moved into a house of their own, they were both high salary-earning adults who fulfilled responsibility and acted as a parent should. Then came the friends, the drugs, the hatred, and the agony. My parents reunited with their childhood friends, each equally as pathetic as the other, each an addict and each a pool of wasted opportunity. And so, my parents being the weak minded, or perhaps easily influenced, people that they are, they too took on the traits of the junkie. My life became a living hell. Within a few years, my parents had both lost their jobs and chaos quickly ensued. There were no family dinners, no family events or gatherings. My parents became zombies, dependant on the use of substances and apparently apathetic to the proper care of their children. The raging alcoholism of my father has grown over the years and the weakness and addictions of my mother likewise have grown to an uncontrollable level. Domestic abuse, physical confrontations, verbal abuse to no extent. I have experienced it all and lived to tell the tale and somehow continue my pursuit of success and fulfillment. Sure, my parents love me, but their warped minds have no way of properly expressing it or showing it, consistently showing me the contrary. I am constantly reminded of their bad decisions and parental apathy as they lock themselves in their room or scream at the top of their lungs to each other or to their children.
One of the things that I have pulled from this fall from grace is that no matter what the circumstance, apathy cannot be accepted. My parents apathetic parenting has introduced me to a whole new level of pain that I would never want to put on someone else. I have learned that this apathy can destroy people’s lives. I have learned that every decision has an impact on someone’s life, not necessarily your own. And most of all, I have learned to care for others and to never put myself above someone that I care about.
Okay, okay. I'm definitely going to be the next on picked. I can feel in my bones...someone HAS to pick me next! ...Alright, didn't happen, but now it's GOT to happen. Am I standing up straight enough? Maybe I look too weird. How can I fix that though? Whatever, I'll definitely be picked next...
ReplyDeleteand this is how it went, talking to myself, until I was eventually picked last out of all my fourth grade classmates.
I think I can describe a part of my childhood and being the bottom of the barrel...CONSTANTLY.
Feeling unwanted was how every moment felt when I little. Never fitting in, not feeling up to par, being a wallflower can really damage a kid, y’know? Sure, people tolerated me and accepted me. I wasn’t bullied and thrown in lockers or anything, but I just wasn’t good enough to make any friends. No one took interest in me, I had nothing to bring to the table. No looks, no personality. I was just this blob that was always there, sitting in the corner awkwardly, almost waiting for someone, anyone to just walk by and notice my existence. Sometimes I thought, even as a young child, that if I were to die, people would finally talk about me and acknowledge me.
I remember I was invited to a roller rink party in sixth grade. Everyone had a “date” or a partner to walk in with. I went in alone. I set my present on the table not being notices by anyone, not even the birthday girl. It almost felt unreal; I even second guessed my existence. So, I awkwardly went and got my skates alone and headed to the floor. This was only my second time skating, so I fell down…a lot. Right when I finally was starting to get the hang of it, BOOM. I crash right into this old fat guy. He loses his balance and topples right over me. You’d think THAT would get some attention, but it didn’t! The man quickly got up off of me and told me, “You need to pay more attention to where you’re going! Look out for yourself!” I stared up at him with large tear-filled eyes and nodded. I regained my balance and carefully teetered away, alone, yet with new perspective, a little more confidence in myself.
I guess now that I read it, it seems kind of weird for an old fat man to be one of the most influential people of my childhood, but it seems kind of….fitting. (For me, at least) I felt as if from that day on, things continued to get better for me. Hey, don’t get me wrong, I was still treated like an insignificant fly on the wall, but I began to accept loneliness, to accept myself. I took the time alone to find out my own interests and slowly but steadily, my true self started to appear, and my confidence rose. Once I took the time to become someone, to first accept myself, I was accepted by others and grew to be liked and heard. I began to love myself even if no one else then did.
Thinking back on my life, there have been many events during my childhood that some people may consider impactful and enlightening. My mom had cancer; my dad had a stroke; my aunt died; my grandma died. These memories came to me first after reading this week’s blog, but I don’t think I learned a lesson from them. Although these events may pained me at the time, looking back now I think, “No big deal.” Thus, it was really really really hard for me to think of a childhood memory that has shaped who I am (maybe because nothing has significantly shaped me or maybe because I don’t have good memory. Who knows?), but if I were to pick one, it would probably be of two similar circumstances that occurred separately—the first time in second grade and the second time in sixth grade.
ReplyDeleteWhat happened was, I liked a girl (and for the girls reading this, I figure I can’t stop you so I might as well join you, and say, “awwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwh.)
For second grade, we’ll call the girl I liked Beyonce. So I liked Beyonce the moment we met that year. I was what you could say, infatuated. As the school year progressed, it became obvious to me that she liked me too. Beyonce basically told me, “I like you!” with her
not-so-secret secret admirer notes. Sitting next to me, she would stretch out her right arm (sometimes fast and sometimes slow) and place notebook paper in my desk. When I caught her note handed, she would look at me grinning with an it-wasn’t-me face. I liked her, and she obviously liked me, but nothing ever happened. We simply continued with the motions of the school year. (Hey. I know that I was only in second grade and that I probably sounded more girly than Beyonce when I talked, but a relationship still would have been nice.)
In sixth grade, things were a little different, but not really. We’ll call this girl… Madonna. I knew and liked this girl way way way before sixth grade, but in sixth grade, we talked more than before and grew closer than ever. About halfway through the year, people began to tell me that she liked me. “Really? NO WAY!” My friends told me that she talked about me all the time and that I should “ask her out,” but being an idiot, I brushed all of them, and their words, off. Heck, even a teacher said, “Simon! When you gonna ask Madonna out?” Eventually, I finally believed the words of my peers and accepted that Madonna liked me. But then I complicated things. I thought to myself, “I don’t want her to think that I’m asking her out only because people are telling me to. I want her to know that I’m asking her out because I like her. Therefore, I’m going to wait until people stop talking.” As you could have guessed, I never made a move, and before you knew it, the year ended and she moved on.
Beyonce and Madonna taught me something, something cliché, but something valuable nonetheless. They taught me to capture opportunity, not to let it slip. The opportunity doesn’t have to be a boyfriend-girlfriend relationship. It can be anything. If the opportunity is there, I have to do all I can to seize it. No buts; no excuses; no delay. I have to take matters into my own hands. Git-R-Done.
Although I don’t want these memories to be the blueprint of my “true self,” I do want it to contribute to my true self. I feel that making the memory a blueprint of my “true self,” limits my true self. I want my true self to be much more than seizing opportunities. I want my true self to be seizing happiness.
Deanna aka Kale Nagasaki-
ReplyDeleteThis totally explains why you are such a strong and beautiful feminist! It all makes sense now. Wow, you are such an inspiration. While reading your blog, I did NOT expect that to come out of it. I am so, so, so sorry for the embarrassment and cruelty you went through. I honestly can’t even imagine the guilt, nor the loss of innocence you went through as a child. He’s the one whom should feel guilty, not you! Anyways, from that memory, you have become stronger, and it definitely shows inside and out. You’re not in any of my classes this year, but since I can remember, I’ve always classified you as the strong, independent woman who ALWAYS stood up for what she believed in, particularly the harassment and discrimination of women. Your tone even revealed both your confidence and willingness to be strong. And yet, after all you have went through, you seem to have a smile on your face. AND FORGIVE HIM. Amazing.
JV:
ReplyDeleteAw, JV I wonder if this was tough for you to write about, because you didn’t make it seem like it at all, well maybe that scene about you and your mom but everything else was said with great confidence. I admire this quality about yourself, how your so open about yourself. This blog was inspiring! Dang, how I wish I am firm on my grounds how you are with yourself. Hopefully I will soon. :D
Britney:
I’m truly happy for your grandpa and your family as well. It was a touching story, and really I’m glad how it all ended up. Anyways, I agree with your sentiment at the end. You should always have hope, it’s amazing what faith can do. I believe in miracles and that whole phrase ‘anything’s possible’ and with that you need faith. So keep believing Britney in everything you do. :D
Jessie:
D’awww, Jessie. You are so adorable. I really enjoyed reading your blog it reminded me about my little infatuation about my first crush. And even though we don’t talk or, let alone, see each other that often, I think you are beautiful! And I’m not just saying that. You have such a way with words, and your thoughts in your blogs shows your inner beauty, as well.
I’ve heard it said that memory is fully developed after the age of four, or something like that, but I have memories from a lot earlier. I remember my life in New York—the trip every Sunday to the Rockland Bakery to get fresh goods, the random parties (decorating the walls with our drawings) that my brother and I had, the tents we built. I remember every part of my life; in fact, I can put it on replay in my head with specific details. I suppose the reason I remember it so well is because leaving was traumatic to my young mind. The grass could’ve never been greener on the other side for me; I loved life just the way it was. Though I was only four, I thought my world was coming to an end when I heard that I had to move. (I know, I know, I’m a bit dramatic, but that’s just me and the way I really felt.) I remember it like it was yesterday, and I swore I would never forgive my parents.
ReplyDeleteI know I shouldn’t, but I do. I hold grudges. I can’t seem to forget about what people have done in the past in fear that they will disappoint me in the future as well. I never forgave my parents until recently. There was absolutely no reason for me to be mad at them because it wasn’t done intentionally to hurt me. They had their reasons, but I never had any desire to hear them. Instead, I wallowed in self pity. Well, that was the wrong move. I can’t picture my life any differently than it is now. I often think about where I would be if I didn’t have my best friends. My life wouldn’t be complete, and I couldn’t see myself having friends like I do now, even though I would have different ones. You never miss what you don’t have, but now that I have them, I can’t picture life without them. What I ultimately learned, though it took over ten years to realize, is that it’s really not safe to jump to any conclusions or hate an idea before you’ve obtained the experience to make a fair judgment. I had never been to New Jersey, so how could I hate it? It was the security that I felt. I didn’t want to change, but I’ve realized that change can be good. If it’s not, then I can complain.
My mom asks me now, “When you grow up, are you going to live in New York again?” I ponder that thought on a daily basis. But the fact that I don’t say “yes,” in a heartbeat makes me wonder if my life now is that bad. It’s not. I don’t know if I want to leave what I have to go back to the life I had. I wasted over ten years of my life being mad about something that changed my life for the better, and so I realized that I really shouldn’t hold grudges. It’s a waste of time.
Uroosa: I am sorry that you had to experience what you did with your mother. There is nothing wrong with a sense of caution, I think "paranoia" has such a negative connotation and that being alert and prepared for the worst is a valuable trait. My only word of advice would be to not let that paranoia get in the way of pursuing something taht you believe in or helping others.
ReplyDeleteKelsey: I am in complete agreeance with you that people should realize that there are people that care and that aren't completely selfish or arrogant. I often see people that think that no one can be trusted and that they should only live for themself. There is no merit in living for yourself. There are people out there that honestly care about others and are generally selfless. No matter how hard it may be to find someone or a group of people you trust, it is possible, and in my opinion, neccessary.
JV: Your desire to show people who they are is one that is truly admirable. Many people make wrong decisions or get into a habit based solely on the fact that they don't know who they are. The prevention of these negative events and the implications they have on people's lives is a lofty task but it is very important and I'm glad someone is out there trying to solve these problems. To have a strong set of views and to be able to show them without the fear of ridicule is a truly important quaqlity.
Uroosa-
ReplyDeleteThe blueprint of that awful memory isn't being paranoid. It's of you being strong. Dealing with that situation as A NINE YEAR OLD is truly amazing. That not only shows courage, that shows maturity at a young age. That shows you love your mother more than life itself. You're paranoid because YOU CARE. That's inspirational in itself.
Roo - Wow, Roo. Your blog was just...chilling. It scared me. Your writing was so vivid, and I pictured myself in your position and I honestly can't even begin to imagine what I'd do. Just, wow. Lot of respect to be able to get through that.
ReplyDeleteAlix - Alix, when we began to become friends in Rock's class, I was jealous of you. I know we got bad first impressions in summer enrichment programs (hahaha) but when I saw how you interacted and got along with everyone so well, I was jealous. I mentioned this in one of my OPs, but your confidence really affected me. If you read my blog, you can see how much of a loser I was (and first impressions...!) and meeting a loud, expressive, and unafraid person like you is another moment that really defined me. I wanted to be like you and have confidence.
JV - You know that I share the same opinions of the boy you're talking about. I don't know if he'd have to go through the same punishments as you did, but I feel that he's afraid of the consequences that will come from both his family and the people at school if he finally does figure himself out. To know that you went through all that at such a young age is amazing and constantly inspire me each day.
Because of this blog, I've gained a huge amount of respect for each and every one of you. <3
ReplyDeleteJourdan S
ReplyDeleteOhana means family, family means nobody gets left behind or forgotten.
I admire the relationship you have established with your family. Maybe for many people, it’s commonplace, but for me, it’s not. Sometimes I tell myself to value my family more, as you did, but it never really works. I think it’s great that you value your family. I think it’s even greater that you’re going to pass on family love to your future children and teach them to value family too.
Lucas S
I’m glad you are yourself. Heck, I probably wouldn’t like you as much as I do now if you weren’t yourself. It really sucks not being yourself, to have to put on a show in order to be cool or normal. Back in the day (even though I don’t really have the right to say this, considering I’m only seventeen and not a dancing queen), I used to act different from who I was so that I could hang with the cool kids and sit with them at lunch. To be able to be myself now, like you said, is more fun. Who cares what that girl said to you in NJHS. Who cares if people disapprove. You rock. I rock. We all rock.
Pooja P
You've got a friend in me. When the road looks rough ahead, and you're miles and miles from your nice warm bed, just remember what your old pal said. Pooja, you've got a friend in me.
Being independent is good. I like independence. Having friends is good too. I like having friends. But I guess, it’s all about balance. You seem to balance independence and friends pretty well. When I think of you, I not only think of a quiet girl, but also of a girl who is so likable that her friends want to talk to her before first period.
To everyone
You are all so strong.
Chrissy: Though you're very sensitive and are easily upset and offended (not in a bad way), it has made you so much stronger as a person. I'm sure you can see, as I do, that it has clearly torn your family apart, hence your relationship with Melissa. But you've become so independent and not reliant on guys to make you feel good about life and yourself. I'm not saying there is anything wrong with relationships or anything, but I think that so many girls I see are completely dependent on having a guy to satisfy their insecurities. I love that you are dependent and strong on your own. And back to the divorce, sometimes it's better. Sometimes it is better to stop the fighting. Ending the fight, divorce, is hard to hear to a child, but as we grow up, we realize that things have worked out for the better.
ReplyDeleteKristie: I just wrote this big comment to Chrissy about how she's so independent and everything, and I feel like the same thing holds true for you. You're happy with who you are and you realize the people who are most important in your life. I always seek your advice because you know when people are good enough to keep close by, or if they are the ones that come and go. You always have great advice because you are such a wonderful, independent person who has realized things because of your life when you were younger.
ReplyDeleteI talk about my dad a lot. Most of my friends have heard about how he frequently skydived, how he is one of the smartest people I know, how he was one of the only ones in his family to escape his hometown, how he has an incredible record collection, how he used to deep sea dive, how he has worked with congressmen, the head of the navy, the undersecretary of defense, and governors. I’m proud of him. I just wish he was proud of himself. My dad frequently mentions how his worst mistake was going to law school. Although he’s really good at his job, he’s always regretting the way his life went. My dad’s biggest tool to cope with this is anger.
ReplyDeleteI rarely share this side of my dad and my childhood with anyone. I don’t want to talk about it, and I don’t want people to see a little girl who’s scared of her dad when they look at me. Already I’m starting to wonder if I’ll post this at all, or if I’ll delete every word back into my denial. I can’t remember a single family dinner growing up that my dad didn’t storm out of. Every night he would yell about how he couldn’t take it, how he couldn’t put up with us anymore. He’d go “out”, leaving my mom to scream at me and my little sister about how it was all our fault that he couldn’t be around us. Eventually my sister would start crying, and my mom would send her to her room. I would sit silent, unable to think of any response. Sometimes she would hit me, because I couldn’t answer her. My mom sided with my dad, because I think she was afraid not to. Soon she was just like him and no longer needed him to get uncontrollably angry at us. My mom told me that she “knew how I was” and that I couldn’t fool her whenever I broke the mold she set for me. I remember lying in bed, staring at the wall and listening to them yell.
From when I can remember to around fifth or sixth grade, I didn’t try to go to sleep. I stared at the wall or at my dresser and tried to stay up all night. I always had horrible nightmares and the only way I could avoid them was exhausting myself so much that I wouldn’t dream at all. Sometimes they would find me anyway, and I wouldn’t be able to get them out of my head for weeks. However one night when I was little stays in my head more than any of the nightmares. My dad was really angry and he kept hitting me for something. I ran in the bathroom and locked the door. I forget what he was saying or what it was over. I can just hear him saying that he could never love me, because of the way I was. Earlier this year I finally realized it wasn’t all my fault. When I told my mom this, she agreed a little, but said that he wasn’t like this before me and my sister.
I don’t see this as something that defines me, but I can’t deny that it’s something that defined how I became me. I harbor feelings and guilt a lot. I’ve always been the one who doesn’t want to admit that she’s angry or hurt, because it might weigh down the people around me. I’m changing that part of me. It’s made me realize how important honesty and openness is. I forced myself to earn self-respect and self-love. A few months ago after my dad took his anger out on me, I told my mom I knew it wasn’t my fault anymore and he had to get help. I really think he’s been trying. Although we’re not perfect, I see a big improvement.
Taylor: Your blog was really well written, and it also surprised me. I've never seen you as the breaker downer. You've always been the clever, witty girl who manipulates words to defend yourself. I read so many of your letters to people, and there is no way that you are losing the battle. I can't picture you being the girl who breaks down when she can't defend herself, and I'm glad that you found the strength to now :)
ReplyDeleteMARYAM'S BLOG -it wouldn't post for the longest time.
ReplyDeleteFor some reason from the age of 6 to 9 I have this blank spot in my memory. There are only five major events that I can picture in my mind, but everything else seems like I was asleep for. I can't remember the people I've seen, the places I've been, the things I did. But this blog was particularly difficult for me because I've changed so much in just the past year alone, the way I use to be seems like a distant memory. It's hard to choose one memory that shaped who I am because I think I am who I am because of many memories combined. Coming to the United States is definitely a prominent contribution to my perceptions, and sitting on rooftops in pakistan staring at the night sky made me discover my passion.But I think a major part of who I am is my quietness. Many people think I'm quiet, passive and boring. When people ask me why, I just say "I just am, I like being quiet."
I've always been this way, reserved and not so garrulous, but I wasn't always as quiet as I have become in the last 10 years. There is a reason WHY I've grown so much more quiet. I never speak about it to anyone, I never show hints of it to anyone though, but since my brain is fried and I don't have time to think of something else, I guess I'll explain my story.
I once had an older brother. For as long as I can remember (with the exception of the blank spot in my memory) we were together. Practically inseperable. He was only two years older than me but he taught me me so much as kids. How to skip rocks and how to sneak mangos off of our neigbor's trees. He taught me one of my favorite things to do when I'm in Pakistan, the art of making and flying kites. I remember the day when I was 4, he came home from the Friday prayers at the mosque holding a newspaper in his hand. In a matter of 15 minutes he made two kites out of the newspaper and we went to the roof to fly them. He also taught me kite fighting (yes, the kind of kite fighting from "Kite Runner") for this ceremony called Basant where people spend hours trying to be the last kite flying in the sky. I was never good at it then, so I flew my kites low so nobody would cut the string, but as soon as he'd cut another kite, I'd watch as his kite runner ran through the town to catch it. He was basically my teacher and would help me whenever I needed it. When I got in trouble, he got in trouble too. I admired him more than I admired my parents because we were always together. Then when I was 8 we weren't. He never came home to walk me to our Quran reading lessons. I remember coming home that day to an unuasually crowded house, I noticed weeping and frantic running from so many people, I didn't really think much about it at the moment, I just went looking for my brother. When I couldn't find him, I just assumed he was at a friend's house. The next morning my cousin told me about the accident. I don't remember my reaction to it, but I felt myself shrink in a little bit everyday. I grew quiet and lonely even though I always had cousins and family over since we lived with my cousins. But I wasn't close to them. I spent my childhood being the dynamic duo with my brother. I had noone to teach me things anymore, to go on adventures with, to get in trouble with. I did almost everything by myself with no help from anyone. Noone to help me with my projects, or to check my homeworks. I guess I changed after my brother left.
MARYAM'S BLOG
ReplyDeleteI don't really like mentioning this to people, but I guess it had a huge impact on who I am still right now. Losing something good in a short amount of time made me more aware of everything around me. Losing my brother, even at a young age made me experience a bad aspect of life and learn to grow stronger from it. I became independent and focused on my work and rarely got close to people. I've gotten so use to being quiet and independent that I like it now. I realize so much more when I'm quiet than if was super talkative and distracted. I always wish I still had my brother around to look up to since I don't look up to anyone, but the experience has allowed me to grow stronger as a person, even at a young age.
TO Maryam:
ReplyDeleteWow- I never knew that Mare...
I m so sorry. I know that must of really hurt.
I just would like to say, though it may seem corny, that I really love you guys and have the utmost respect for you.
ReplyDeleteLike Simon said, you guys, fellow AP LANGERS, are my ohana. : )
Simon
ReplyDeleteFirst let's get the inevitable out of the way: awwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww!
ok moving on, a lot of people dismiss elementary or middle school crushes, because they feel like they are so beyond them now. However they happen at a time when we're developing who we will be and what path we'll choose. We're pretty impressionable at those ages, so the little crushes have a pretty big impact. I'm impressed that you thought to write about them. It didn't really occur to me, but now looking back I see what a bid deal they were for me growing up.
ps Why Madonna and Beyonce?
Justin
When young kids are in situations similar to yours, a lot of them have a hard time seeing the world in a way that could let them escape. You have so much clarity and insight that I know you will be different. I had a friend who abused his own body until he was on the brink of death. He was like a second father to me, so it was hard to watch him waste himself away. I can't imagine how much harder it must be for you.
Kale - I never would have thought anything like that could have happened to you. I knew about your super high expectations, for guys especially, but not this. I always knew you were strong, you even motivate me to be as well and I'm grateful for that. You're story is a true inspirational story.
ReplyDeleteKyraaa- I kind of knew how much you disliked your mother because you've only mentioned it a few time, haha. But I'm glad you've become intolerable of nonesense and liars because I know I'm not like that at all. I deal with it all. And the fact that you manage to stay happy and carefree still is even better, so kudos to you for that [Muckah, hahaha]
Pooja- I know how you feel. Again, our blogs are similar but different at the same time. Anyways, it didn't bother me being quiet and lonely while I was young because I was careless then. But I'm the same, I don't like sharing personal things about me to people, if I do then you're one of the very very few. I didn't like writing this blog, honesly, because I don't like talking about what happened but I didn't have time and couldn't think of anything else, so I had to.
Ugh, it works! Sorry about that Ms. Bunje, Manar and I kept getting an error and it wouldn't post.
ReplyDelete