Either in a series of bullet points or freewriting, explore the following as they pertain to you:
- “Nature” – Ethnicity, Race, Gender, Sexuality, Personality
- Institutional – Nationality, Religion, Profession
- Discourse – Environmentalist, Feminist, Libertarian, Marxist, Vegan
- Affinity – Scouts, Teenager, Goth
Part II: Journal Reflection
In a personal journal or Google Doc: Once you have compiled a comprehensive list, write about the experiences you have had with each. Do not hold back. Some will offer more passionate responses than others will. Some may upset you. Some may even surprise you.
This will be part of an on-going exploration as we examine the narrative that is our lives. We are all protagonists, characters narrating our existences through our first person point of view. Remember, there is a third person narrator - dual narrative if you will - telling the story of us. Let your voice be the true war story.
Part III: Blog Discussion
In this blog space: Post ONE section that you feel comfortable sharing with the class in a blog response. Read your classmates’ responses, and please respond directly to at least one student in which you share an experience and one where you learned something new.
Depression
ReplyDeleteI wrote about being a vegan in our previous post for Global Goals, so I think I will put myself out on a limb and share the label that hounds me to this day. The tricky thing is that I never understood whether “depression” goes under the Institutional or Nature category. Has depression been something I learned or inherited from my family members who suffered from the disease? Is it a byproduct of living in a society not designed for our DNA? Let’s face it, the stress we suffer comes from institutionalized elements that our ancestors did not encounter. In the case of depression, I always bought into the idea that depression was something you managed. “If you are depressed it is your fault and you need to fix it. Snap out of it.” I received the depression label as a teenager, with my mother saying, “You are just like me.” This not only made me, subconsciously, link depression with myself, but unintentionally caused me to feel like I am not a man. My father used to pride himself on “being positive.” Therefore, in my mind, my lack of “happiness” was my fault, and it became something I worked on for the next 30 years. I became a master of hiding it to the outside world. I put on a brave face all day, and crashed when I got home. In my 20s, I tried therapy, and numerous prescription drugs for depression. My goal was always to become “more positive” and happier. The drugs made me feel better, to some extent, but the side effects were crippling. Always tired. Sluggish. I would get “better” and then get off the medication, feeling like I could take it from here, only to slip into the depths again. The other issue is that I suffer from seasonal depression. I tried mood lamps, and long walks in the cold. Nothing really worked. Then, at 40, I decided I would give my life a complete overhaul. I stopped drinking alcohol, coffee, and it was partially for health reasons I became a vegan. All of this helped. I started to going to the gym 3-4 times a week. I swim. I bike. “Athlete” was never a term I used to describe myself, but it felt good. Guess what? The depression isn’t as bad, but it still did not go away. I finally saw a psychiatrist who gave me proper medication (what I was previously taking was part of the problem). He also shared that I am doing all the right things. There is nothing more I could do to improve myself. More importantly, he said that depression is obviously in my family history and hereditary. It is a condition. He told me to give myself a break. I do not need to feel ashamed or that I need to “snap out of it.” I shared this with you, because I know that it is a condition that is widely misunderstood and many people, like me, hide it well. If you have depression and need someone to talk to, I am always available.
I've also had to live through dealing with depression, so your blog post struck an emotional cord with me. Once the reality of its existence was in my mind, I knew that I needed to take steps to better myself much like you realized. I never let my depression become a personality trait, a parasite which would fool me into thinking that who I had become was who I was meant to be. Luckily, I found the right people at the right time, and was able to bring myself to a better mental state with their help. I think your story is very relatable and very inspiring to anyone who feels like they are going through a similar rough patch in their life. Thank you for sharing your experience, I know it can be hard to do.
Delete‘What are you?’ I’m often asked as my skin tone, facial features, or accent don’t lend any clues. With an Asian mother and a French and Lithuanian father, my family gatherings are filled with both the blaring, Chinese words of my grandparents and the cheers of a Patriots’ touchdown and fireworks exploding in the backyard. I believe questions like ‘where are you from?’ or ‘what are you?’ are common for people that are not blatantly white. It’s not that these remarks come out of impudent, hateful intentions. More often than not, people ask such questions to better get to know me. Yes, I do not look wholly white, but, growing up in Andover, I have not faced any significant discrimination. Most people in our community do not care for the color of a person’s skin but rather who you are.
ReplyDeleteI feel that where my family comes from and who my family is shapes the person I am today. My mom’s parents are immigrants from China, while my dad’s parents were a school teacher and a carpenter. Through hard work, both of my parents were the first in their family to go to college. Therefore, I acknowledge all that has been given to me. Very little was given to my parents, and they did a lot. More has been given to me, and I want to do even more with it. Although the two sides of my family look and act differently, they share the same imperative essence of hard-work, practicality, and respect. Their values have certainly rubbed off onto me.
I feel like I'm always confronted with a choice when someone asks about my identity. Most things are solid: this or that. Boy or Girl, straight or gay, American or not. I think I’ve never felt comfortable with the absolute, the immovable or the concrete. I feel like there is always a nuance or someone left out. I’m the type of person who is constantly changing my mind about everything and anything I can, so, when I can opt to not pick at all, I do. I am a non-binary, pansexual, dual citizenship holding enigma. I don’t want to choose. Even my name, Bea. Everyone keeps asking, but it’s just I’ve never really identified with Eileen. Sure, I love that it preserves my family history and my dad’s immigrant status as a first generation immigrant, but that was the only reason I was given it. Usually when one asks their parent why they named them something the answer is sentimental and thoughtful, yet for me they've just sad that Caroline, my sister, was too American and they wanted something Irish. Then there is Beatrice, my grandmother’s name, a person my family had been estranged to long before her death. Altogether, even my simplest identifier, my name, is not something I feel too strongly for. Eileen, the Irish, Beatrice, estranged, O’Farrell, belonging to my family. It’s hard to identify with anything, but that which doesn’t identify. I am not a definition because I don’t really comfortably fit any. Though I don’t mind people calling me by or identifying me by what is easy, I know that truly I can’t. I am not what I’m told I am, I just am as is.
ReplyDeleteI never knew this about you. Thanks for explaining why you want to be called 'Bea' rather than Eileen. The origin of your name is very interesting, from highlighting your Irish roots and who you are. You point out how we often associate identity with concrete ideas: Boy or Girl, straight or gay, American or not. I like how you connect your name with being American and Irish, and you don't let others determine who you are.
DeleteWe often talk a lot about stereotypes that are based on what people look like on the outside, but there are also a lot of stereotypes that have to do with one aspect of your personality. Take the “stereotypical nerd”. He/she spends their life locked away obsessed with boring things the rest of us would never choose to learn about, is weird beyond imagining, has no friends, no knowledge of the real world, and no real understanding of happiness. Frankly, the “stereotypical nerd” is lame. That’s coming from someone who considers herself and is considered by many others to be a “nerd”. Yet, I can say that without shame because I don’t consider myself to be a “stereotypical nerd”. Neither do I consider any of the other brilliant, creative “nerds” I have met over the course of my life to be “stereotypical nerds.” Because as far as I have seen, the “stereotypical nerd” doesn’t exist. People sometimes assume that because someone is smart, he/she must be boring.They sometimes assume that it isn’t possible for someone to be both good at school and good at life. Yet the vast majority of “nerds” I know well enough to comment on defy these expectations. Being a “nerd” is a vital part of me, but it is sometimes a misunderstood part.
ReplyDeleteI agree with this a lot. I definitely consider myself to be pretty "nerdy" and I don't think that title says anything more than having a thirst for knowledge. Having interest to learn and take in as much of the world as possible is what I think a real "nerd" is, not someone who sits at home all day and memorizes the thesaurus.
DeleteIndependence
ReplyDeleteFrom what it feels like and from what others have told me, I’m a pretty big extrovert. I can usually be found going out on the weekends or chatting with the random cashier at a grocery store. I admit, I do love engaging with others— and if I could, I’d choose to live in a bustling city full of life over a quaint suburb like Andover. Relationships are a very large part of my life and I truly believe that friends make everything better. That being said, it might come off as surprising to some when they learn about how largely independence plays a role in my life and makes up the majority of my persona. I actually love (and sometimes prefer) going out on spontaneous drives alone or to places I have yet to explore. I find that being independent gives me a freeing feeling and assurance that I have nothing but myself to keep accountable of; independence makes me feel powerful, serene, and balanced. Doing things alone appear to me as an opportunity to make something mine, rather than being “that loser without friends.” A balance between a busy and quiet lifestyle gives me that dynamic I need to perform and feel at my best.
I think it's very interesting that while your an extrovert, you also are very independent and enjoy a lot of alone time. I relate to you with enjoying some alone time and independence, as it sometimes is more preferable over a large crowd. I liked how you described it as a freeing feeling and described the balance between a busy and quiet lifestyle. I think it's important to have this balance in life.
DeleteWhen I tell people I’m Armenian, they usually don't know what it is or they say “isn't that what the kardashians are?!” For my family, being Armenian is much more than just the ethnicity of Kim K. My dad and his family are 100% Armenian, making me and my brother 50%. He grew up in Watertown, MA, a town with a large Armenian community. He took classes to learn how to speak and read the language when he was younger, but didn't stick with it as he grew up. Although the little that he did retain, he taught to me and my brother. His childhood consisted of a lot of homemade Armenian foods, either made from scratch or bought from the local market. Because of this, Armenian food became a staple in my home. My mom, on the other hand, is 0% Armenian. Although you wouldn't be able to tell by looking into our family. She’s become a part of the culture, joining in on yearly Armenian traditions and making traditional recipes. She learned how to make homemade Armenian foods from my great grandmother, who moved from Armenia to the U.S. It’s clear that my family is pretty involved in the culture. It’s become a big part of my life and my identity. Growing up in Andover, I have not met many people who are Armenian. To even get Armenian food, we usually have to drive into Watertown to buy it at a market. Although the ethnicity is not that widespread in the U.S, I hope to still carry it with me when I start my own family. As I grow older, I hope to bring some of the traditions and culture my family values, with me.
ReplyDeleteI find it amazing that your family finds ways (some subtle) to incorporate your Armenian background into your lives. It was heartwarming to hear that even your mother, who is 0% Armenian, has slowly transitioned into learning about the culture and embedding it in her life too. I can also totally understand the difficulty that comes with actively embracing our backgrounds; but remember, it can be such a beautiful thing when traditions are shared with friends/those around us and when this aspect is further explored.
DeleteI can relate to this idea of others misinterpreting your culture. Since I am Chinese, Lithuanian, and French, I often get similar questions: where is Lithuania? what are you? Similar to how your mom joined in on some of the Armenian traditions, my dad, who is white, joined many of my mom's Chinese traditions. When he met my mom, he learned the value of some of the Chinese traditions, like the celebration of the New Year or the making of Doong. Like you, when I grow up and start a family, I too want to bring along my cultures, of which I get from my white and asian roots.
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ReplyDeleteFrom when I was born until around third grade, I remember going to church every Sunday. My parents started at a church mainly consisting of fellow Chinese immigrants and their children. Members of this church simply called themselves Christians, not associating themselves with any branches of Christianity in particular. Before entering kindergarten, I remember some of my closest friends being from this church. It was not only a place of worship, but a place of socialization. As time went on, we realized that the emphasis wasn’t always on religion, but on friends and building a community. For my parents, this was not what they were looking for. They decided to leave and join a protestant church in our town. No longer was Chinese the main language being used at services, but English. Most of the kids around me were white. Although I was uncomfortable at first in this new setting, it was here that I truly began to learn about the Bible and God. Every night, I loved to read children’s bible books and pray at the foot of my bed to my guardian angel. God was always in my mind, and I truly believed He had a plan for everyone.
ReplyDeleteAs I got older, we began going to church less often until eventually we didn’t go at all. It came unintentionally; my older brother and I both began becoming involved with more after school activities, preventing us from having time on Sundays to go to church. In general, our lives seemed to be filled with more things, and religion’s space seemed to shrink. The more I experienced in my life, the more I questioned my faith. There were times where religion’s space in my life was large, and others where it seemed to have no space at all. I wondered whether or not I would have believed in God if I hadn’t gone to church when I was little. My older brother diverged from our parents’ views and doesn’t believe in religion while my mom still feels God in her life everyday. This reflects in their somewhat conflicting views on society, politics, and life in general. Although I don’t label want to label myself as any religion for certain right now, I feel it has brought me reasoning, friendship, and strength when I’ve needed it. I try to stay conscious of religion’s role in my life and continue exploring what it means to me, never wanting to shrink or expand the space it fills at each point in my life.
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ReplyDeleteThe idea idea that there was a problem with me, is something I hate having to think about. I’m not trying to stride to be a perfect person, I just don’t want to be a nuisance to others. I’ve tried to reject every explanation for my problems, because to me they feel like excuses. In the context of my peers, of the people I interact with during my daily life, I should be on easy street. To be honest, what I’m writing about here pales in comparison to what I’ve read that my classmates have to go through. I’m a straight white male, so shouldn't I be grasping at straws for something to talk about? Being a middle child, I feel that I have a lot of pressure to live up to the expectations of my older brother, and be one step ahead of my younger sister. Unfortunately, I feel like I’ve failed in both areas. I don’t understand why, but they are just both “better” at school than I am. I feel like I’m just making it along, doing well enough in most classes but lacking ability in others. My siblings are both the science-math types of people, where my strengths lie in English and more conceptual subjects. Because of that difference, I feel like I was given the short stick, with what I consider to be my best subjects the “easier” concepts to understand. I wish I could have the same hands-off “Good job in all your classes, keep up the good work” mentality my parents have towards my siblings, but that just isn’t in the cards for me. I’m always the one which needs some extra help, from my dad at home to my teachers in school. With the environment I’ve had to be around, I get the sense that I’m an extra weight for he carrying, the odd one out. That feeling has done nothing but get amplified within the last year, when I was diagnosed with Grand Mal seizures and realized that I was medically depressed. Out of the blue, around two years ago, I just “started to have seizures”, for no discernible reason. I hated myself for it. I hated the stress it brought on my mom, who had to watch her baby boy go through this experience at a rate of at least once every month. When I was finally prescribed medication for what I was going through, I knew that I had to take any other problems upon myself and not show them to my parents. I didn’t want them to have to deal with me anymore than they already had to. Thankfully, when the meds started, the seizures stopped. What took their place was a deeply wedged, medically-induced depression. Junior year of high school, I learned that I had a problem which I could hide very easily, from friends and family alike. I learned what true sadness was, what it was like to do nothing but lay in bed, ignoring the plans made by the people I would usually be happy to go out and see. Instead I opted to think over my terrible life, and the burden that I had made myself throughout the years. I was lucky, however, to have a friend who noticed that I was in a bad place, and their kindness was able to lift me out of the hole I had dug myself, and taught me how to see the good inside me. I could finally come to terms with the fact that my parents are way more than willing to put up with me, because they love me. But that doesn’t mean that times aren’t still hard. My depression, although now the feelings are few and far between, is something which I hid from them, something they still do not know at the time in which I’m writing this. Where I am with my life now, to drop this new on them would resurface those thoughts that I am a problem to them, and that isn’t something I want to face, at least not now.
ReplyDeleteThank you for sharing this with us, Cody. Check in with me, because I had a similar experience at your age. You do not need to go it alone.
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ReplyDelete"What happens to black girl to anxious to feel like magic?" - "Friends with benefits" Jae Nichelle
ReplyDeleteBare with me, I feel like this year I have been using others words to speak for me. Much like the character Mrs. Who from a Wrinkle in Time. I wasn’t sure how to write this in a way that made sense so this stream of consciousness poem of a sort is where this is going.
When I first noticed that she moved in, I thought it was just a phase.I was about 12; us 7th graders think everything is 10x what it is. One of the those things that, oh she’s in my room for the moment, but once she’s gone you’ll be fine. But her presence just got worse. It was like a thick blinding fog, preventing me from moving forward. She made me nervous and shaky. I wore long sleeves in the summertime to cover my insecurities. I changed everything for her. My dress, my hair, my shoes,my attitude. My family told me that I had a life good, so I shouldn’t hate her so much. And yet I still felt the her everywhere. I had no clue why and at times I would look to the sky for answers written in invisible lettering that only others could see. Because that fog stayed with me. Unmoving and dense; clouding my senses and making it hard to breathe. I tried to scream but to no avail. No one hears anything in space. It's a vacuum. Therapy just wasn’t for me. 3 years on and off we were never really a couple counseling types anyway. Journaling was next, on and off poetry helps. Sometimes it’s the only way. Others it’s just dark, day in and day out. Some days she rips out the pages of my notebook in which I wrote about her, placing them in the trash. Because that's where she told me it needed to be. She still pulled at my hair and called me names. Then I was finally diagnosed the summer before senior year; Her name is depression. Coping with her has gotten easier. Especially now knowing who she is. Smiles here and there make it easier. The reverberations of the guitar strings help too. It keeps her happy and out of my hair. Sometimes if I play and sing I can lull her to sleep for a while.
A lot of the time, it can get pretty lonely being a fan of metal music. It’s definitely not hard to see why. It’s certainly an acquired taste and I understand why the majority of people would not be interested in taking the time to acquire that taste. Still, for me, the genre has been something I have found a lot of happiness in for years now and I definitely associate a large part of my identity with that music scene. While others may only hear random noise or just a huge wall of sound, I listen to the same thing and hear something completely different. Obviously neither of us is “correct”, it just goes to show how different people can be in the things they enjoy. As I said earlier though, the only downside is that there aren’t many people with which to share this enthusiasm. It isn’t one in a million people, I have certainly met other people in this school (even in our class) who listen to some of my favorite bands. At the same time though, there’s no big culture of metal fans at our school or pretty much anywhere. This is one of the reasons why I love going to concerts so much. For years I have been going to at least one show every few weeks and I have seen hundreds of different bands live by now. I am even drafting this paragraph on my phone while standing in the House of Blues waiting for the next band to come on. I wouldn’t want to know how much money I have spent on concert tickets by now, although most metal shows aren’t very expensive. It’s just so fun and energizing to come together with a group of people who care just as much as I do about the same thing and have a great night. The times I have at shows will surely be among my fondest memories when I look back on my life.
ReplyDeleteWhile reading this I got a sense of how much metal music means to you and I find it so intriguing that although everyone can listen to the music, each person hears different things. Each person has music that they resonate with, and the way you were able to share your interests with us shows just how much metal music is integrated into your life.
DeleteGrowing up as a twin is an experience that is unlike anything else in my life. It is a bond that I am going to have for the rest of my life. From the second I was born, four minutes later, I was given my other half. There are some twins who look exactly the same, do all the same things, and there is also twins who don’t look anything alike and are polar opposite. Hope and I fall somewhere in the middle range. To complete strangers, we look completely the same but to friends and family, they are able to identify in a second who is who. There are so many positives that come from this unique experience, however, there comes a point when people sometimes can’t separate the us into individuals. People sometimes don’t understand how to separate Hope and Emma to Hope AND Emma as two separate individuals who like different things and want to do different things in their life. We do all of the same things, have mostly the same friends but the one thing that bothers me is when people don’t understand that we are two different people who act differently and sometimes it feels like people don’t care for the individual you. It’s a constant comparison that people don’t mean to make but they can’t help it.
ReplyDeleteI could never imagine growing up with someone who I shared absolutely everything with, even somewhat an identity. It must be hard for you both to be viewed as a pair because you guys truly are so different. It is also hard to not blame people for viewing you guys together because it is just a first instinct when you see twins, especially when they look so similar. I think it is really interesting to hear about your thoughts on this because I am sure a lot of people never think to ask you.
DeleteI think over the past few months I have grown to have an affinity with being the perfect older sister. It's ironic, my sister, two years younger, is still thought to be my twin, or even the older sister to the strangers we meet. We are different is some ways, I chose to pursue athletic interests, and in my heart, she is the best dancer/singer that has ever existed. She loves watching You Tube "icons", and I didn't know who the "Sister Squad" was until last night. We share similar pressures, to excel in school and stay out of trouble. Like a lot of siblings, we fight over petty conflicts, we have dance parties, and are protective of each other. I thought that maybe after 17 years I had finally got the older sister thing down, maybe I was wrong, but maybe what had been eating away inside her had been out my control. I remember feeling angry, nearly all her had known she was feeling right, for months actually. I remember feeling guilty and ignorant, how could I not have noticed or taken seriously that she had been distancing herself from me, my family, dance class, and school. Then I felt hopeless. Visiting her the hospital, seeing them phantom like, unrecognizable, and miserable will always make me feelings I still can't describe. I will never forget the one day I tackled her to the ground to rip tip-less pencils from her hand, which she had been using to harm herself as an escape. I remember feeling confused, my parents often liked to leave out a lot of crucial information, causing me to question why she was even still in school, allowed to have social media, or to have her door shut. And then I remember feeling okay, she was begging to act like herself again. But depression and anxiety doesn't just disappear after a few months or be cured by one magical medication. Senior year was unfolding nearly seamlessly, but by mid September, I was haunched over at the high school's track after a field hockey game, crying witlessly. I assumed she was dead, or was going to die, and couldn't listen to the rest of the words being spoken to me. The pills consumed had been to prevent kidney stones, so all that those did to her body was make her have to pee a lot. She had also called my mother right after, she wanted to live. I know now that there can be no perfect older sister that can prevent her from experiencing some of the horrors of high school and growing up. I can't make the depression and anxiety go away. But I have taken it upon myself to become more familiar with her interests, to really be an individual se can confine in. We'll talk about James Charles' and Emma Chamberlain's newest videos, talk about show choir performances, and the apparent godliness Shepherd Hill Regional High School. While these are not necessarily my first choice in interest, I have never been so glad to discover what makes my sister so happy, and what's she proud to identify herself with.
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ReplyDeleteSomething that everyone might not know about me is that I am half-Irish. My Irish background is a very important part of me, yet it is not always apparent to people. I don’t look very Irish, and my last name is Armenian. Both of my grandparents on my mom’s side grew up in Ireland. They spent a lot of their lives in Ireland, and it wasn’t until adulthood that they moved to the United States, where they met. Growing up, Ireland was always very important to me because of my grandparents. They always had a very strong influence on me, as well as my mom. However, it was strange to have such a connection to a place I had never actually been to. That all changed in middle school, when my mom took me and my sister on a trip to Ireland. Visiting the land was very powerful for me. I could finally see where my grandparents had grown up in, and it was very fulfilling to visit their relatives still living in the neighborhoods they grew up. Visiting Ireland really completed my Irish background for me, as I can more understand where I am from.
ReplyDeleteEven though we've had classes together before, I never knew about your Irish background. Your experience visiting Ireland reminds me of the first time I visited China and saw my grandparents and other relatives. Like you said, the understanding of where you are from is a kind of knowledge so special to each person. Would you want to visit Ireland again?
DeleteOne of my earliest memories is my mother tucking me into bed after reading a bedtime story, giving a little peck on my forehead, and leaving with “Buenas noches”. Every night, to this day, she wishes me good night in Spanish and incorporates other Spanish phrases in conversation. Whether it's “Come y calla”, “te quiero”, or “buenas noches”, my mother’s Spanish roots have always been present. When my grandmother was in her twenties, she migrated to the United States after the Spanish Civil War, bringing the traditions of her family with her. Now, my entire family on my mother’s side speaks Spanish, cook dishes like paella y tortilla española, and visit relatives in Spain. I know my mother has always wanted to pass this along to me, but I never held it to the importance and value that I should have. Above all things, I regret not trying to speak Spanish with her when I was younger. Though I take Spanish classes now, I know it is not enough. Spain is such a big part of my life, however I feel so disconnected from it. It feels like I’m throwing my history away, but the worst part of it is that I know it disappoints my mother.
ReplyDeleteHey Sabine, thank you for sharing something so personal about your background. Truthfully, I can relate to you on the same level. Both of my parents immigrated from China into the U.S many years ago, and sacrificed a lot to get us to the place we're in today. When I was younger, Mandarin just stuck to me— it was more familiar to me than English was. However, growing up in America, it was inevitable for me to catch on to the English language in order to follow through in the academic and social world. I've lost touch with my Asian background, and I completely relate to you when you say that even language classes don't feel enough; sometimes, it feels as if I could only give back/be satisfied with it by staying connected with my culture. As for the feelings of disappointment, I strongly feel that during gatherings with my parents' close friends— they'll try to speak to me in Mandarin, and I'll reply with my broken language skills. I feel as if we put the disappointment on ourselves stronger. If it reassures you, just remember that your mother knows that growing up in America is a lot different than where she was from, and that we face different pressures whether that be culturally or socially. Try not to be so hard on yourself with these expectations.
DeleteFriendship has never come easy to me. Throughout my childhood, I rotated friends like clockwork. Every year, depending on who was in my class, I would speak to new people and toss the old ones aside. I don’t have a solid explanation as to why but I found it hard to maintain something that was never solid. It wasn’t until middle school where I was able to solidify my friendships and formed a group with four other people. I was exhilarated to finally have something more permanent where I could feel 100% comfortable. Everyone considers middle school to be the worst three years of their life but I considered it to be some of my best. I found what I thought to be my forever friends and experienced some of my greatest memories. High school was a difficult transition for me academic and social wise. I struggled to maintain the A average I had throughout middle school and found my friends to begin moving on with new people. While I spoke to more individuals than I had previously, I was unable to form the connections my middle school friends were able to. The summer going into sophomore year I was abandoned, and feel into a deep sea of depression. I felt like I was dying on the inside and didn’t even attempt to make new friends. My deathly fear of being rejected consumed my life and stopped me from trying to have a friend again. I didn’t want the fact that I had no friends to define me. Then at the beginning of junior year, I applied for a job at Target, hoping to find a way to keep myself busy. Little did I know, I would end up finding what I was looking for. Being able to be sociable again led me to find companionship once more and escape from a black hole of loneliness. As stupid as it sounds, Target saved my life.
ReplyDeleteHaving becoming friends with you in Junior year, I hadn't have known before the way you struggled with making connections in High School. The transition into High school can often be very daunting and lonesome, but you've been able to persevere and work past this. I think it's very interesting that having a job allowed for you to become sociable again, as I had never viewed working as something beneficial. But hearing how it affected you has given me a new perspective. I think what you went through made you a much stronger person who was able to rise above a hard time in your life in order to become happier and improve on yourself.
DeleteFor the entirety of my life, people have always asked me who I got my red hair from. My mom has dark brown hair and my dad has black hair. My brother, and only sibling, does not even have red hair, so people always tried to piece together my family when seeing us. I am the only person in my family, including immediate family and distant relatives, that have this shade of red hair. Because of this, people who see me like to make up their own story as to why I have this characteristic. Some will say that a very distant relative such as a great, great grandparent had this red hair while others will say that it is the luck of the irish. Upon seeing me, you can immediately tell that I am irish. From my pale skin, red hair, and many freckles, it is extremely noticeable. These traits have always played a large role in my life, as every family member would comment on it during any family event. Even random strangers would come up to me, pinch my cheeks, and exclaim about my hair and freckles. My mom always told me that it was something to be flattered by but the constant attention and my shyness as a child proved to be a struggle. It took me a long time to grow into myself and be able to not care about the comments from others. And although many of these comments were compliments, I was still always asked the cliche redhead questions or called the stereotypical phrases. I have learned to not care about what people say to me and just try to say thank you and move on.
ReplyDeleteI struggle with trusting others so this is really hard. I've gotten the adjectives strong, confident, ambitious, and even honest, but honestly most times I can't relate to that. I've forced myself throughout the years to never let people in. To form relationships but never expect much from them. To always know that I really only have God to rely on. Because of that mentality, I have lost friends and even opportunities for relationships. The fear of not receiving the same amount of love is evident in those relationships. Maybe because my parents got divorced at such an early stage in their marriage, forcing us to move from Queens to the Bronx. Or even because of the disappointment I have had after putting time and effort into a relationship. As I grow older, I realize that its truly "me, myself, and I" I will give people chances to be in my life, but I will also have the mentality that anyone has the ability to lose my trust. I won't look for a reason, but once it is lost it is time to move on to the next.
ReplyDeleteI’m never quite sure if I should call myself Italian. Technically, I’m have just as much Irish blood as I have Italian blood (about 48% each), I have never been to Italy, nor do I speak any Italian. But somehow, from a young age I saw myself as part of the Italian nationality.
ReplyDeleteI think it is because of the way my family acted. We make lasagna. We have “Make Your Own Pizza” nights. During the holidays, instead of a salad to start the meal, we eat artichokes stuffed with garlic. The older members of my family have been known to pinch cheeks and tell people they need to eat because we’re too thin.
I also have a very Italian last name: Matteucci.
The thing is, I’m not really Italian, I’m a Matteucci. And honestly, I like that more. My family name is special. And it means more than any background Italy can give me. My family history is a story books are written about. I know no first names so bear with me.
The first Matteucci in the United States immigrated when he was about nineteen years old. When he got here, he married an Italian-born woman (a girl really) and they had five kids in five years. Then he died, leaving the woman his name and very little money.
The woman had a sister who had around the same number of children and a dead husband. The sister’s husband, however, left her a few boats.
The two sisters sold these boats and bought an apartment complex with a shop on the first floor. In the shop they created an Italian grocery store (they sold pasta, sauce, artichokes, excetera). So one was working in the shop while one was raising the children.
I come from a family that was held up by these two strong women. Whenever one of the kids got married, they just moved into another apartment in that building. They all had a place to live. They were the kind of thrifty, poor immigrants that you read about in books.
My family now is incredible. We all have different political views and drive each other crazy. I’m sorry to say my grandfather did vote for Donald Trump. Most of my family goes to church every week and the other’s are atheists. We should be a powder keg. But we aren’t. No one in my family smokes, is an obsessive drinker, or is violent in any way. We all care about each other. And I’m proud to call myself a Matteucci.