The Virtues that Formed It

Power. It’s a word with a mis conceptually negative connotation. Discrimination. I believe this word is perceived to be “bad” and I won’t deny it isn’t.

I don’t like to talk about politics on this blog...I believe there are other things to post about. Yet Trump’s recent presidency has led to much controversy. This past week, he passed an executive order preventing people from 7 different countries–Iran, Iraq, Libya, Somalia, Sudan, Syria, and Yemen from entering the U.S. for 90 days in order to change immigration screenings, not to mention 120 days for refugees. According to Wall Street Journal, this was ordered for the purpose of “detecting individuals with terrorist ties and stopping them from entering the United States.” Many people have been on planes and have been detained from entering the U.S. They have spent hours on a plane, only to be turned back onto the next departing flight.  For me, this is straight up discrimination against those seven countries, and a religion.

The United States was founded on our diversity. Freedom of religion is constitutionally protected. Discrimination is what tears the world apart. The results of discrimination elicit poor, marred and certainly false images about people. It wrongly ostracizes groups of people, and the world misses out chances to improve and further develop when we cut out groups of people. And this is where power comes into play.

There is power in our voices. There have been protests around the United States these past weeks. Voices driving social change is what founded this country. It feels like a step back to me, these past few months, as this nation struggles to remember the virtues that formed it.

My Fiery but Delicate Temper

Last week, I was attempting to describe my temper in my post.

I am seldom angry. Through the power of observation, I feel that most of the emotions I experience are stress, self criticism, anxiety, and–what makes me proud to say–happiness. Anger doesn’t even cut it close to being on that list. Yet I’m human, and that’s something that I’ve struggled to grasp for a long time, which means I will be angry at points in my life. Yet when I am angry, I observe I am like fire, sputtering wildly from a flame. This is what makes my temper fiery. Being angry is not the only emotion that elicits fire in me, but hope, optimism, excitement, anxiety, and curiosity do as well. But referring back to the angry-provoking fire, when that flame dies down, I am quite forgiving, and most of the time, I end up finding fault in myself for being angry. If the flame is consistently fed oxygen, my delicate side shatters, and that’s when I find myself crying.

I suppose I seldom feel anger because I try not to let frustration get to me. When I’m frustrated, I try to see the brightness in the darkness of everything. I respect the fact that I’m being pushed, challenged and stretched. I celebrate that opportunity. I observe that my anger comes primarily from ethical and moral mistakes, such as people disrespecting me.

So my temper: fiery, but delicate.

What Scares Me and Left a Scar

About two weeks ago during fencing practice, for a warm up, we were playing a jump rope game. It doesn’t sound too bad. One coach held the jump rope on each end, and together, they swung it in a circle motion, asking the fencers to run under it, and jump.

That scares me.

So I chose not to participate, yet the coaches didn’t realize my fear for things flying at my face, so they tried to force me into it. I refused multiple times, stating that I didn’t like things flying at my face. Maybe I didn’t say it emphatically enough because they were relentless about me participating in the warm up. It got to a point where I felt I had lost my right to do what I chose to do. My words were just words, carelessly tossed away as a joke to those coaches. You can imagine how that went considering my fiery, yet delicate temper.

***

In third grade, we went a field trip to Plymouth Plantation. On the ride there, I was sitting with my best friend on the seat. Behind us, a pair of boys were playing with their seatbelts, swinging them around and around. My friend and I were vexed because the seat belts kept slapping the back of our seats, so we turned around to tell them to stop. Sitting on the aisle seat, I looked around the side to tell them, when the still flying seatbelt came crashing into my right eye. I remember feeling a surge of hot pain in my right eye, the kind of feeling that burns so much tears disappear. That field trip ended for me there, because as soon as the bus arrived at Plymouth, my dad was called, and he drove me to Boston Children’s for an eye checkup. The corner of my right eye was a sickly bloodshot red for at least two-three weeks. Although I was slightly nearsighted anyway, my right eye became 25 degrees worse than my left.

I remember having to take school photos [yes, I was in the photo with a bloody eyeball], and this whole scenario being a muddle of random things that added up to one of worst and scariest events that’s happened to me.

And that’s why I didn’t want to participate in the fencing warm up.

That event is a scar that has been left on me, and things flying in my face has been added onto a list of Things I’m Scared Of. Protecting my head has been added onto a list of priorities, and going to the eye doctor has become a nightmare. I suppose our scars are what makes each of us unique, like our pet peeves. They shape our personalities, and each scar tells a different story. I suppose this story is somewhat unique to me, being hit in the eye with a seat belt, and even though it scares me, it is something that has been imprinted on me. A suppose there’s not much to do except recognize that.

Other things that scare me:

1. SPIDERS!!!!!
2. Lots of hair loss [I have a story for that later as well]
3. Bad guys chasing me [I have tons of dreams about being chased]

A Roaring Sea, A Semester Past

When I was younger, my parents always told me that each year will seem to pass quicker and quicker as I grow up. This year, now more than ever, I’m feeling that passing of time.

Eighth grade seems to have only started, but when I pause, I realize that I’ve been in school for five months already. The end is stealthily approaching, yet invisible, creeping up upon me, and the beginning is nowhere to be seen. I’m in the middle of eighth grade, a roaring sea, a time when everyone change physically, a time when the chemistry of everyone’s brains change. One could even look more broadly and say that being a teenager itself is being in the middle of a roaring sea. You’re too old to go into a carousel and you’re too young to engage in adult conversations. We in the middle anyway. Being in the middle of eighth grade only adds another layer of complexity.

Today was the last day of the first semester of Eighth grade and that’s why I bring this up. At the beginning of the year, in the eighth grade advisory program, we each set goals for ourselves. My goal, of abstaining from self-denigration, I believe has carried along well. It may be the only goal I remember setting, but it is really important. Avoiding self hate is the first step to getting others to respect me. If I can’t even respect myself, why should others?

Part of this I’m finding through tennis. Over winter break [which seems like ages ago], I played three tournaments. The singular most difficult crucible I encountered was believing in myself and not beating myself up for mistakes. This struggle to be kind and respectful to myself is what lead to some losses in my matches. It wasn’t my skill that was mismatched [though on my last match, I truly believe the girl was a more skilled player], but my mentality. On my last tournament over break, I told myself that I wouldn’t criticize myself, give myself too much instruction if I made a mistake and I wouldn’t attach emotions onto my shots. I won 2 out of 3 matches that day.

That example is something I continue to reflect on when I take a test, play sports, or review my grades. I think about that pride I felt when I was down 1-4 in my match, then came back 5-4, and won 7-5 in the tiebreaker. I’m proud to say this goal, of curtailing self-denigration, is progressing in the right direction. I can’t wait to see how this continues to develop.  

Neither safe, nor politic, nor popular

"Cowardice asks the question, 'Is it safe?' Expediency asks the question, 'Is it politic?' Vanity asks the question, 'Is it popular?' But, conscience asks the question, 'Is it right?' And there comes a time when one must take a position that is neither safe, nor politic, nor popular but one must take it because one's conscience tells one that it is right." ~Martin Luther King Jr. 

Something missing

On Monday, after sports at 4:00, I stood by the giant, glass window of the Athletics Center, observing the Academic Building at the Upper School campus, separated merely by a serene field covered with five inches of downy snow. At this time of year, the sun sets around 4:30 P.M.

On Monday, the period of the day photographers refer to as the minutes of “Golden Light”, the setting sun cast a bright light orange, golden and faintly red ray of light onto smoke that was steadily rising from the Academic Building chimneys. The white snow that lay motionlessly on the field seemed to develop character as rays of fiery warm hues reflected upon its ultra cold appearance. The sun was dropping, standing barely above the tallest branches of a row of trees. I watched it slowly drop, flimsily, until only the light it emitted was visible between the branches of that row of trees. I was dazzled by this scene.

It brought a sense of peace…tranquility. All other voices around me seemed to blend into background noise. It was just me. Present in the present. Staring out into the field, at the fiery smoke rising from the chimneys, at the darkening shadows of the nearby trees. It was just me being present with myself, an aspect of self-communication I don’t practice quite enough. That’s when thoughts splurged through my head. Life…my schedules…school…tryouts for varsity tennis…applications…homework…piano…time…. It was then that I sensed something missing.

For this past week I couldn’t quite pinpoint exactly what I felt I was missing. I went for runs to try to figure it out. I meditated. I paced. It just felt like something was off…something was missing. I didn’t feel the same bliss I’ve felt before, and I suppose it may have been due to the inclination of January being a busy month.

Yet something I proudly practiced three times this week helped me pinpoint my feeling of vacancy…of less than satisfactory satisfaction. I went on my yoga mat, and practiced simply 20 minutes of my vinyasa flow yoga. I listened to my body and followed how it desired to move. I imagined water flowing through me. After three days of yoga, I think I’ve found what’s been missing.

Adventure. Appreciation for myself.

Now, I’m just brainstorming ways I can recover the missing pieces to the puzzle. I’m on the right track…I’m sure of it. I’ve felt the sensation of liberty and precariousness before. I know the feeling. I just need to see that I do.

The Nebulous Beauty of Transportation

There’s point A and there’s point B.

Point A, we could say is the start. Point B is the finish to whatever task we’re looking at [start of homework to end of homework, life to death, after school to home, etc.]. Some of the most significant memories for me would the moments in between, the process, the struggles, and the time.

Reflecting on the years I’ve been at BB&N, I think some of my strongest memories are those spent on the bus home after sports. This past Thursday, my friend and I were talking about our experience on the bus in sixth grade, the laughter, the jokes, the talk about crushes, the talk show we pretended to create and what we like to call the “fake wedding” that we recorded. It makes me smile to think about how much the people who’ve ridden the bus with me have grown these past two years…it truly shocks me. The bus has been a place where I stress out, then am comforted by the innocent, yet genuinely caring fourth graders. It has been a place where we just laugh, at jokes, at humorous stories from classes, at memories and I find myself seldom leaving the bus without a smile.

The conversation about bus memories started when my friend and I were telling the fourth graders and sixth graders [whom we’ve known since they were in fourth and second grade, respectively] that we wouldn’t be on the bus next year as high schoolers. That made me pause and think about how I’ve watched each of them grow, and probably, how they’ve witnessed my friend and I grow. We’re all different people, yet we’ve retained many of our old characteristics. Our revolution. Yet the people on the bus have grown off each other. There’s a tangible connection of trust between each of us and that’s inspiring to me.

So in reality, I suppose it’s not just point A and point B that count…the moments in between matter just as much. These moments have shaped me in ways that point A and B wouldn’t have offered. I’ve built friendships, I’ve learned how to interact with younger kids better, I’ve laughed, it’s my de-stressing space. I believe that’s the nebulous beauty of transportation.

Shoot for the moon

My first post of 2017.

It feels abnormally grand, which to some extent is begetting my sensation of “treading lightly”. This first post feels especially significant, almost too important, as I’m applying it as a tone setter for the following 359 days of 2017.

Sharing a quote sounds like a comely idea. So here I go…sharing this quote, taking a few deep breaths, and meandering through 2017.

Shoot for the moon and if you miss you will still be among the stars. ~Les Brown