My Experience In My Life

Sixteen years old can be a very confusing age in any person’s life. We’re expected to act like adults but get treated like children, the age we begin to prepare ourselves for our last year of high school, the year we start to look into colleges we want to attend and what it is we want to do with our lives. But for me it was the age when my parents thought they would lead separate lives.

My mind was buzzing. What had just happened? In the distance, I saw cars driving by completely unaware of what happened, how I felt. Disappointment, disbelief and fear filled my mind as I was crying hysterically from not knowing what had just happened in my life. I opened my eyes finding myself tilted on the passenger’s door. I didn’t know if I was sleeping and that I was stuck in this nightmare or if this was actually reality. I smelled the car’s engine. It was definitely reality. On June 27th, 2017, my life has been impacted greatly to what could have cost my mother and I’s life. The fault of this crash came from a 19-year old boy. He wasn’t concentrating on the roads. He should’ve stopped at the stop sign at the four way intersection. But he didn’t. He didn’t because he was high on drugs. That pretty much explains the reason of his fault. This accident gave me visual proof that God has a plan for everyone and everything has a reason or hidden message. You never know what can happen. Life is too precious to be taken for granted.

As I boarded the charter bus to my second year of Unidiversity (an annual summer youth trip in Tennessee), I could not begin to imagine the person I would become as a result of this trip. As a teenager going into my last year of middle school, I was determined to have the time of my life. I wanted to have fun, make a better connection with friends, play games, laugh, and really enjoy the time with my leaders and friends. At this point in my life, I was hiding a dark secret that only two other people in my life knew about; I was bisexual. As an almost eighth grader, I was comfortable with my sexuality, but I didn’t know how to explain it to others, and although I knew my friends would accept me for who I was, something was holding me back. I would walk around hiding behind I mask that I thought was permanent, a mask that told everyone that I was one thing, when I was really another. Little did I know that I was about to rip off the mask, and show my true self for the first time in my life.

Growing up I had a good life. I lived with my brother, sister, and both of my parents together as a good family. My parents really taught me how to be respectful and responsible. I was lucky to have them as good influences in my life. I am not one to disrespect anyone unless they have done me wrong. I grew up caring about school and always wanting to perform well and anything that I do. There were many challenges and events that helped me become the person I am today. One of which is when my family and I had the opportunity to visit our home country, Zimbabwe.

I grew up in Romania where I called a camper my home for the first eight years of my life. We moved from city to city reaching out to the Gypsy community. A childhood in which one gets lice most summers, intermingles two languages assuming everyone understands both, and attends second grade in three different countries is, of course, an unconventional upbringing. With the unconventional upbringing, however, came extraordinary experiences that have shaped who I am and the life I have chosen to pursue.

Everything comes with time, from age to understanding. I have come to realize many things over the years, but some have been much more significant than others. We have read quite a few pieces as of late, and I feel learning from others is essential in our everyday lives.

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?

When I was only seven years old, I had decided that I was going to be a professional ballerina. My parents had enrolled me in the local dance lessons since I started walking and I fell in love with ballet right away. My friends and I would attend a dance group everyday after school and would travel to places on the weekends for competitions. Living in the suburbs, mommy, daddy, dance lessons, and me, I thought I had a perfect life and wouldn't have traded it for anything in the world. We would enjoy the summer breezes, and the Long Island Beaches; it was a true American dream until all good things come to an end.

As an elementary and middle schooler, I had absolutely no idea what I wanted to be when I grew up. While my classmates seemed to know that they wanted to be an artists, firefighters, or teachers, I was completely unsure. My interests were wide-ranging and varied, and I could never imagine being stuck doing one thing for the rest of my life. Each time we were asked what we wanted to grow up to be, I gave a different response- from ice cream tester to marine biologist to mountaineer- never wanting to commit to the same potential job more than once. And this incertitude didn't seem to be something that I was growing out of- it continued until earlier this year, when I finally unearthed my passion, the thing I was meant to do with my life. In a single day, I went from unsure about my future to absolutely certain about what it would hold. It’s a day that I know I’ll continue to cherish for the rest of my life.

I was used to visiting family in the hospital; for the first part of my life, I spent nearly every day with my grandmother and great grandmother to watch my great have her dialysis done. I was around three when she passed on, and at the time I hadn’t realized the severity and high stakes that a hospital can suggest. I would later discover, at the age of thirteen, the urgency and pain that hospitals can cause when my grandfather Allison passed away. Seeing him hooked up to all of the strange machines and devices that solely could prolong his life has been one of the most tragic and saddening experiences of my life. Witnessing some of his final moments has taught me to value life and is ultimately what has driven me into my current path in life.

It was the beginning of summer after my seventh grade year. The sun was blazing, the birds were chirping, and I felt an overwhelming sense of freedom. Life seemed great, until the next day when I was bored out of my mind and had nothing to do. During middle school, I followed my brother, Isaac, around like a mime. Whatever he did I would aspire to do the same. This was no different when, bored out of my mind, I found out my brother was going to go disc golfing with the neighbor friends. When Isaac asked me if I wanted to come with, I jumped up, ran to my bike, and told him I was ready whenever he was. I had never heard of what “disc golf” was, but I knew that since my brother was doing it, it was cool! So I followed Isaac and the neighbor friends all the way to Northside Park, sweating immensely from the summer heat and from how quickly I was biking. On the first hole, Isaac gave me my own disc to borrow for the round. This sport was completely foreign to me, so I threw my disc as hard as I possibly could, in an attempt to impress Isaac and his friends. Not only did the disc go absolutely nowhere, but I threw it so high that the wind actually pushed it backwards. I felt humiliated as everybody laughed at me. Isaac, however, came up to me and explained to me how discs fly and the proper way to throw. Each hole, I could visibly see my disc traveling further than the previous hole. Every time Isaac saw me doing something improperly, he would correct me and tell me how to fix

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.

One hour later, and my life became changed forever. My loving and caring family I bonded with would no longer be the same. The long walks with my mom in the evening would soon become a distant memory. Decorating for the holidays was just around the corner and I would have to hang up the stocking on the chimney without her. The sweet, rich, chocolate brownies she made every Friday night would leave my taste buds empty. Her hugs that made me feel loved when I was sad would now be a thought in my head, and our long talks about growing up and finding my way would be cut short.

I woke up to the smell of crispy bacon and eggs racing through the house. I went to the kitchen to find a small white paper next to 2 bacon-egg cheese burritos and orange juice. I read the note and it said “ DEAR JONATHON , i am currently at the store getting stuff for the house ill see you later, LOVE MOM!!!” When i read it at first i kind of cringed but i just sat down and ate my burritos and they tasted so cheesey and crunchy it was awesome . Once i finished i went into the living room to listen to the radio. We live in a shaft in the middle of the forest and its never light because the trees but that doesn’t stop me from doing what i want to do, so I decided to go outside and play soccer by myself to waste some time. But out of the corner of my eye i saw a tall old creature with a long beard and a robe, he looked very warned out and tired. He walked over to me as slow as a slug, then i ran into my house because i got scared. Suddenly my face was inside a bag and i was being carried, so i screamed for my life “HEEEEEEEELLLLLLPPPPP!!!!IM BEING KIDNAPED HHEEELLLPPP!!” No one heard me because the nearest road is about 2 hours away. I woke up in a cave and saw a man mixing something in a huge pot over a fire , it smelt like dead rats piled up in a hole.

The never ending days of summer were quickly winding down. It was that time of year again. That time where every kid dreads waking up early every day. Where we have to sit on hard as rock chairs for hours. Eat foods that look and taste like a mixture of foreign cuisines together in a bowl. My fulfilled summer adventures were now just a mere distant memory like that old shirt tucked away at the bottom of a drawer to be never seen again. Now I have to face reality; it was my final year as a high schooler.