My Experience In My Life

I first became aware of myself as a unique human being about a month ago because of things occuring in my life. I had a lot of new things going on in my mind last year for the first time. I didn’t know why it was this was happening to me, I thought there was something wrong with me. This is how I became aware of me being different from everyone else. *Personal*

Day 60: W-why am I here? I’m not crazy… Besides, it’s not my fault, he still terrorizes me!

My entire life has been full of three of me. My brother, my sister, and myself. I say three of me because my siblings and I are the same age. We were all born on the third of June in nineteen ninety-nine. It has always been this way – the three of us. We are the musketeers, always by each other’s side. We have been through ups and downs and everything in between. For the past eighteen years, all I have known was my siblings and the comfort that they bring. Not only are they the other two-thirds to my life, but they are my best friends. Jaelyn and Dakota (my sister and brother, respectively) are my guidance, security, and sanity.

Until I was eight-years-old, I had a relatively typical family: a mom, dad, two younger sisters, one younger brother, and two dogs. I was goal-oriented and determined even as a young girl; I had my life figured out for the next ten years. I had a strong sense of who I was, but one June day, I began the arduous process of redefining my plans and sense of self.

I lean against the hospital bed reflecting on my life and where it would now lead me. I have just overdosed on a painkiller and I thought my life was over- no hope, no friends, and most certainly, no support. Or at least that is what it felt like. I was at a time of my life where constant bullying was occurring and being in a small school at the time, there was no place to escape. In my mind, I thought the only way out was to vanish from this world completely and so I snooped around for a bottle of pain killers and took the whole bottle.

Until I was about nine years old, I never felt uncomfortable about myself. Sure I had funny glasses, large frizzy hair, and a smile which stretched just a tad too wide, but it was just who I was. Fourth grade seemed to be the pivotal moment where the issues started which would later go on to shape the rest of my life. It started off innocently enough. Who do you like, do you want to go shopping, can I paint your nails, etc. I would respond simply. I don’t like anyone, I don’t want to go shopping, no I don’t want you to paint my nails. I had no idea then, but these were not the answers people expected me to give. They wanted to know which boy I liked, when we were going to go shopping, and how I wanted my nails painted. Shortly I found myself spending most of my time alone. I didn’t understand it. What was wrong with me? Why did I not like doing the things other girls liked doing? I feared the answers that I might give, so those questions went largely unanswered.

My college routine goes like this: Wake up, study, go to the gym, shower, go to classes, go to the library, practice the violin, go to meetings and activities, studying, and then back to my dorm for a restful sleep. I like to say that I can achieve my goals as a dual-degree student pursuing Music and Pharmaceutical Studies towards a PharmD. because I love the consistency in my routine. As a dual-degree student, I have 8-10 courses a semester that I need to take. Being organized and managing my time wisely motivates and allows me to do everything that the University of Connecticut offers for me.

Since I could walk as a toddler, I quickly learned the thrill of going new places. By the age of five, I learned how to ride my bike and the distances I could go exponentially increased. My older sister Rachel pushed my little pink bike, then, let go as I pedaled as hard as I could so I would not fall over. In middle school, I discovered the Bay Area train system, and utlized it to see my sister Rebecca. When she attended UC Berkeley, I took Caltrain to the Millbrae station, hopped on BART, then rode it across the bay. She ended up settling in the City for work. To visit, I only had to take Caltrain up to its last stop, then walk the two miles to her apartment. I would say she is the closest to me out of my whole family. Growing up as one of nine children, I was automatically born to be independant. I have five sisters, and three brothers. This had its ups and downs, but looking back, the circumstances truly shaped the person I am today.

On the night of April 7, 1997, my seven-year-old body flew from the backseat of a Nissan Sentra and crashed through the front passenger window onto the roadway of Old Town, Staten Island. I woke up on a hospital stretcher in pain and perplexed. My eyes were filled with shattered glass. I had no mobility in either of my arms; my right arm was wrapped in gauze and plaster; and my left arm had an IV in it. Two days later I was informed of the full extent of my injuries. I shouted at my nurse, “But how will I eat, write, shower, and how will I use the bathroom? What about my hair? How will I put on my clothes?

From my earliest memory, my life in the Philippians was surrounded with joy. I was born

I was sitting in the plane going to where my mother lived when she was a kid, finally landing at the only airport in my entire state and the 45 min drive to my “home” I felt a new emotion I had never felt or known about at the time, anxious. First an outcast as an American with Indian heritage, but now as another outcast but this time as an Indian with American heritage. I recall on my thoughts that I had sprinting throughout my mind as the heat kept pounding against my skin. Not sure whether to be nervous, Thrilled, or homesick. It wasn’t the night my parents decided it was best for my brother and I to go to India and live there for 2 years it was that night, my first night sleeping without the same bed, power rangers bed set with yu-gi-yoh and Pokémon pillows that I had realized my life was never going to be the same.

The wind serrated past my body. I hesitated, reminiscing all the memories we treasured years ago. Sitting down on a nearby bench, looking at the emptied bus stop. I ran my fingers through the leathery pages of my small book that my father had given me. How long it has been? Five… six years? The clouds suddenly swirled and closed the sky, the thunder roared. Girls of all ages and appearances rushed through the streets as they had just finished school. I smiled mirthlessly.

“Experience is not what happens to you; it is what you do with what happens to you”. That is what my dad was saying in the big screen in front of me, quoting Aldous Huxley, next to my mom, both smiling widely and a bit dewy-eyed. It was a video they recorded unbeknownst to me that was being shown at the Jenkins Foundation scholarship awards ceremony; a night that will last in my memory for the rest of my life. An acknowledgment that came almost as unexpected as the realization that I would study in one of the best universities in Mexico. And, at the same time, a recognition that seemed to be just an obvious next step, the natural consequence of all that I had done and worked for up to that moment.

Every moment of accomplishment is success and there is one event in my life that stands out above the rest. I stood waiting in the psychiatric ward of the hospital, awaiting my father’s embrace. I was eager, but not ready to see him after months of waiting and wondering. Nevertheless, my palms were sweaty, arms crossed, unwelcoming to the unknown. This was the first hospital that allowed me to visit my father as a 12 year old because of safety regulations. My heart sunk as I walked into this unfamiliar place. I immediately noticed the eerie aura of the place. The walls were lifeless with no sign of photographs or memories--just a blank canvas of gray. It saddened me that this is where he was staying everyday without an escape. I saw people struggling with serious mental illness: bipolar disorder, schizophrenia, and clinical depression. It was a shock to see my father amongst patients who were clearly mentally ill. Despite my unrest with this new reality, I have found an undeniable interest in medicine and health after seeing my dad be prescribed many combinations of medicine trying to find the one that would counteract his mental illness.

My first semester as a college student is coming to an end. I remember moving in, scared of making friends and starting a new adventure. I remember wandering around like a lost sheep attempting to find the classrooms I would spend the next few months in. All this seems like it happened forever ago, but in reality, it was just three short months ago. Mid-semester, I recall beginning to countdown the weeks left. And now here I am. I made it.