Sitting on an old leather couch, I look around the room. I see a lamp, a television, some picture frames with old photos of my childhood, and my pet parakeet, J.J. Fruity Feathers; Nothing more, nothing less. Just three months ago, though, that flat screen was a portal to an ever-changing and vivid dimension, my toaster was a high frequency bread incinerator module, and this couch pillow was my lover. Words are leaking from J.J.’s beak, “ abandon ship”. I don’t know what to make of it now. If it were the old me, I would be a sailor on the Titanic and perhaps J.J. would be the Kate Winslet to my Leonardo DiCaprio.
My peace of mind has broken, the colors have faded… Ever Since that day…
Three and a half months ago, May, strong winds pummeled me with left and right hooks, but I was in no position to take notice. It was my graduation day, which should have been the best day of my life, but I felt a sharp pain in my conscience. Whenever I look back I see my mother and next to her, the empty seat that should have been occupied by that that man. He never approved of me for taking a more artistic path in college. If only I wasn’t an only child, then I could have been standing here now while someone else could carry the torch and run my dad’s company. To be honest, I don’t remember the last time I spoke to him. I moved away to my own apartment once I lost all tolerance towards his disappointed look. I at least have my mother here. She never once told me not to follow my dream to be a cartoonist.
After graduation I hit the bar just a few blocks from college. I don’t really drink especially this early in the morning, but my best friend works there. He graduated a year before me and has been waiting for me so that we can start are big bus...
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...the little freedom I have left. When I finally arrived I saw my worst enemy, Henry and my mom speaking to each other. I decided to go back home. I don’t know but I’d rather do this over the phone or in private with my father than have to do this in front of the only person who supported me and the person who ruined me. After arriving home I took off my jacket and called my dad’s secretary to set up an appointment in his office.
“Are you okay, I’m sorry to say his but the CEO passed away a couple months ago your mothers the one running things now”. In a fit of rage of rage I turned over the table where the phone sat, over. All I could hear was silence and my voicemail messages: The messages my mom left a couple months ago, the messages about my father’s death. And a butt dial message where my mom was plotting the perfect plan to get me back into the family business.
She picked a seat in the way back, away from all the people. She silently stared out the window making a quiet list inside her head of all the things she had forgotten and all the people she remembered. Tears silently slid down her face as she remembered her aunt crying and cousins afraid of the dark in their house. She couldn’t do it anymore. It was the best for everyone she thought. Deep down though she knew how hard it would be for everyone to find out she was leaving. From her family’s tears, to the lady in the grocery store who was always so kind and remembered her name. She also knew how
I had to get on the phone and say in an adolescent voice that was not very convincing, “This is Mrs. Tan.” And my mother was standing in the back whispering loudly, “Why he don’t send me check, already two weeks late. So mad he lie to me, losing me money. And then I said in perfect English, Yes, I’m getting rather concerned. You had agreed to send the check two weeks ago, but it hasn’t arrived.” Then she began to talk more loudly, “What he want, I come to New York tell him front of his boss, you cheating me?” And I was trying to calm her down, make her be quiet, while telling the stockbroker, “I can’t tolerate anymore excuses. If I don’t receive the check immediately, I am going to have to speak to your manager when I’m in New York next week.” And sure enough, the following week there we were in front of the astonished stockbroker, and I was sitting there red-faced and quiet, and my mother, the real Mrs. Tan, was shouting at his boss in her
Almost twenty years ago, around this time of the month, you had a baby girl on November twenty-six. Like every parent you are happy, smiling at the baby, holding my hands and taking pictures. I grew up, stood up, walked for the first time, said my first words, and lost my baby teeth. It’s time for me to go to my first day of school; you don’t want me to go because you got use to my presence in the house. Meanwhile, you are low-key wishing for me to stay a baby girl, when you know perfectly that it isn’t going to happen.
Whenever I turn on my camera and place it in front of my eye, I am instantly able to change my perspective. I had to learn how to protect myself from the frightening actions and negative words spewed from my father. I chose to use my photography and journalism as my coping mechanisms while not realizing until now, how much writing and photography saved my life and kept me sane. Every time that I boarded a plane headed to California for my visits, I cringed because I never knew what to expect and I feared the unknown and known but my camera was always constant. As I discovered my passion for writing and photography, it became more than just a stress reliever or a way to escape into a place far beyond the courts or my dad, it became my way of life. The recognition and validation of my gifts, talents, niche, and abilities came by way of opposition and obstacles that helped me to realize my worth, purpose, and capabilities. My experiences during my visits took away a sense of innocence and taught me to not rely on the validation of others; to know my self- worth. My father often belittled me and whenever I felt less than, I would pick up a pen and reflect or take a photo and I was then reminded of my capability, worth and
And while the details of the arguments that caused these altercations are lost to me now, all I can remember is the distrust and rejection that ravished my identity the moment their bodies made physical contact with mine. Living a life that was constructed by them and for them, I was utterly lost when the feelings of trust and acceptance died. I had committed myself to taking part in extracurricular clubs that stepped up my involvement and got me closer to getting ahead, and I had achieved a status that was somewhat unmatchable for others in regard to my popularity because of my success, but all of this seemed pointless because of the confusion that my parents
My story began on a cool summer’s night twenty short years ago. From my earliest memory, I recall my father’s disdain for pursuing education. “Quit school and get a job” was his motto. My mother, in contrast, valued education, but she would never put pressure on anyone: a sixty-five was passing, and there was no motivation to do better. As a child, my uncle was my major role-model. He was a living example of how one could strive for greatness with a proper education and hard work. At this tender age of seven, I knew little about how I would achieve my goals, but I knew that education and hard work were going to be valuable. However, all of my youthful fantasies for broader horizons vanished like smoke when school began.
The year was 2005, I was 8 years old, and I had just started my fourth month of third grade. I hadn’t seen my father in a couple of months and, though I constantly asked my mother, I couldn’t for the life of me remember where it was that he had gone to. The only thing that I remember of what my mother said to me when I asked her his whereabouts was that it was, “un lugar muy diferente” (this translates into, “a very different place.”) One day she told me that I was finally going to get to see my father again and I got very excited. There was one catch though, he was not coming back, it was instead we who had to move to where he
Until the twenty-second of March, I thought my parents were happy with each other and that they would be together for the rest of their lives, but that was not the case. I was given no reason to suspect that anything bad was occurring, but when I came home from school that day everything was revealed. My father told me that he had been wanting to speak to me alone. He looked fearful and bit anxious. I knew this conversation was going to be different from every other talk we have had. He started off with, “Please just listen and give me a chance to explain myself before you judge me.” I had nodded
It felt so dragged out because all I wanted was to see him and tell him the news. Our connection felt different, phone calls were made shorter and they weren’t as frequent. I missed him. Two nights had gone by without a phone call or even a message. This wasn’t typical of Luke. I was becoming increasingly worried. I tried to distract myself from the situation and went to Atlanta to visit my parent’s for the weekend. This provided a distraction from my despair. When I arrived home, the flat fell silent. I sat aimlessly on the sofa, starring at the telephone, hoping that maybe it would ring. I tried turning my television on but I was oblivious to anything around me. I didn’t know what to do with myself. I knew something was wrong. Fifty-five minutes passed, as I stared at the phone. That was when I heard it
Suffering includes a broad scope of things and is often different for everyone. Despite the different ways that people can suffer, virtually every individual on the planet will experience some form or level of suffering in his or her lifetime. Suffering is inevitable. The question is not if you have suffered, it is how. Suffering is personal, handled in different ways, can alter who you are, and changes your relationship with God.
When I left my room, my mother knew that I had gone through a rough time, and I did not want to talk to her about it. Even though there was only a month left in my school year, I promised myself that I would be completely truthful to my friends, my family, my heritage, and myself. I expected all my friends to leave me, but I was fully prepared for this. However, none of this ever happened. My friends didn’t leave me, I wasn’t alone at the lunch table, I wasn’t even seem differently by those around me. I had failed my family by doing this, and I wished I had stopped acting like someone I wasn’t sooner. This is one of the only mistakes I have made which I consider a failure because it had taken me close to a year to fix, and this is why I consider it my most successful failure.
Some memories are best forgotten, but it takes courage to go through them. Often, I wish to forget the day when I almost lost my parents in a tragic car accident. As my world came crumbling down, I prayed and hoped that the nightmare would soon end. I endlessly fought the sense of helplessness, isolation and fear of the uncertainty. I was 19 and clueless. Nevertheless, I sailed through these dreadful days and welcomed my parents home after six long months. In the months that followed my parent’s return, I juggled between taking care of my parents, graduating college and adjusting to my new job. Almost 10 years later, this dark phase still has a phenomenal impact on me. Perhaps, because this specific experience transformed me into a grateful,
One beautiful day that summer, I was playing outside with my friends when my mom called for me to come home. I did not want to abandon my guard post at the neighbor's tree house so I decided to disregard her order. I figured that my parents would understand my delima and wouldn't mind if I stayed out for another two or three hours. Unfortunately, they had neglected to inform me that my grandparents had driven in from North Carolina, and we were supposed to go out for a nice dinner. When I finally returned, my father was furious. I had kept them from going to dinner, and he was simply not happy with me. "Go up to your room and don't even think about coming downstairs until I talk to you."
It was on a Friday morning at 4:30 A.M. that happiness and joy filled the hearts of both my parents. I was born on November 29, 1996 at Broward General Hospital in Fort Lauderdale Florida. My parents had five children, and among the five children that they had, I was the third (or middle) child from them. It started off as two boys, then I came along as the first girl, after it was another boy, then finally, another baby girl; so total was three boys and two girls. The way that my parents lived and treated each other was the same as if any other married couple that loved each other so much. They’ve gone through a lot to get to where they are now today, but they made it and along the way had us five children. They have been really strong with each other which made them only have the five of us and no other step children. My mom is a great cook and enjoy cooking for us; this is probably where my passion for culinary comes from. My dad is an amazing tailor, he is very good at making our clothes, and my passion for fashion probably came from him. My dad is also a teacher, one of the best math teacher I know, he is passionate about his job and his family is the center of his universe. I cannot finish this chapter without mentioning my grandmother, I was lucky enough to have ever met. I had spent part of my life time with her, like the rest of the family she is sweet, my grandmother Abelus,
It was around 2:00pm and it was time to open presents. I started with opening friend’s presents then I opened families. I was finally done opening all my presents. I looked around at all the people, who were looking at me and my dad was nowhere to be. That was the only present that I was looking forward too. The party ended and my dad didn’t show up, my little four years old hopes were in the ground, it was like I could feel my heart ripping appart. I looked at my mom and she mouthed I’m sorry, my faced turned rosy red and my eyes filled with tears. From that moment on my life was never the same. It was a dark cloudy day and I was going to see my dad. We were playing the game Sorry and he was winning. I was the yellow player and he was the green player, he was laughing and smiling the whole time. I wouldn’t have wanted to spend my Friday afternoon any other way. When the game was over he asked me to clean up the game while he went out to smoke a cig. When he entered the room and the game wasn’t picked up, he went crazy. His eyes seemed to turn a dark almost black color. It was like he was a completely different person when he came back