My Journey In My Life

In his novel Mesmeric Revelation, author Edgar Allan Poe describes adversity, “Never to suffer would never to have been blessed.” Although these sentiments have become commonplace, they are valid as everyone has faced hardships. One’s actions in a perfect situation are predictable and simple, but the way said person acts while suffering reveals his or her true character. As a white male living in northern Virginia, I have been primarily ignorant to severe suffering. However, I dealt with such adversity, which taught me a variety of lessons, at the young age of eight, when I was told that my father had lymphomatic cancer.

The moment when I was old enough to comprehend how I came into this world, I should have known there would be a great deal of impediments for me to overcome. I was mistaken as twins because of a little white lie which led my grandmother to bring two bassinets to the hospital. However, everyone would soon have the relief of knowing there was only one me; but a fear of panic would surface once it was determined that my feet had took the place of where I may head should have fell. I was born breech. My world was upside down before I even took my first breath. A world I didn’t ask to be in but became grateful for because of my grandmother. My life was never intended to be simple. I owe my life accomplishments’ to the woman who was willing to take both of me home. She is the reason I am who I am today and the reason I will be who I am tomorrow.

I wasn’t a healthy child. Some of my earliest memories are of my frequent visits to the doctor for a plethora of reasons, from ear infections to asthma to chickenpox, it seems like I dealt with it all as a little boy. I remember some of my early health problems vividly, but I also remember connecting the doctor with feeling better. At this young age I was also confronted with the threat of the death of my father. Mom picked us up early from school one day, and I could see a look of fear on her face as she sped uncharacteristically fast away. “Mom, where are we going?”, I asked. “Your dad is in the hospital, he’s very sick. We are going to see him.”, she replied, choking on her words speaking to her two young children. “WHAT’S WRONG!?”, my

No two human lives are the same, everyone faces challenges and tragedies, but some more than others. Whenever the weight on my shoulders gets too much, my mother reminds me that pain makes a person stronger and that the strongest people get the hardest lives. A little before age two, my life was changed forever when the Twin Towers burnt to ashes, consuming my father and grandmother. Little did at that moment, how the actions of one terrorist mastermind would affect my life forever. In the following months life continued on a downward slope, with the deaths of my other grandparents who died from a broken heart. A life without a father and any grandparents can seem like a curse; however the strength of my mother kept me afloat. Although blackness

Last May, my father had been feeling sick for a couple of weeks. Every day and night, it was something different for him. Even though I wasn’t going through what he was going through, I still felt the pain and anxiety that he had constantly. I would spend the days that I

My father died of a sudden cardiac arrest back in 2001. Even though my family and I were aware of the heart failures he experienced throughout his life, none of us expected him to leave us so soon. He was the financial support of my family. When he died, my stay-at-home mother became the provider of the house and forged ahead without even being able to process the grief. My life changed in the blink of an eye until this day. I transferred from an elite school to a public one, where I received classes with 60 other girls in a crowded classroom with broken windows and

My experiences with being part of the first generation in my family to participate in post secondary studies has been both remarkable as well as challenging. My father came to Canada as a refugee over 30 years ago and dropped out of school when he was only 16 due to the Sikh genocide that occurred in 1984 where thousands of Sikhs were being killed, raped, and tortured daily by the Indian government. He was forced to work to support his family by working long and hard hours at the family farm. When he finally raised enough money, he came to Canada in hopes of a better life not only for himself, but also for his wife and future children. He worked in a factory when first coming to Canada and finally saved enough money to buy a truck. My mother

I remember the tearless man standing beside the bed where the body of his mother, my grandmother, laid. There was a silent feeling in the room even as the cries and yells that were heard outside of the room from family members and friends lingered. I was shocked to see my father not cry in the sorrowful room. I knew he was being strong for me so I wanted to be strong for him. I asked him why he never seemed to have shed a tear and he responded saying "Because she is in God's hands now". Hearing that when I was young, I did not understand at the time; however, it made me realize later how significant it is to look up to my Dad during distressing times and learn from his implicit behaviors as teachings for becoming a young man.

With each passing day, I began counting them down and marking them off on my calender. In the mean time, as I observed new patients entering the program, I could not help but notice the excruciating extent of suffering drugs and/or alcohol subjected them to. Most of them appeared almost weightless as if they were suffering from starvation. The texture of their skin appeared dried out, pale and wrinkled. The impotence they endured over their drug(s) of choice was obviously tormenting. Likewise, A glimpse into their burgundy colored eyes told practically their entire story as I could virtually feel the pain thumping inside their chests. Repeatedly, I observed storm-like tears slithering down their cheeks as their faces implied how clueless they were about what to expect. I was forced to ask myself, “how much of what I saw was me?” I continued to question whether

Shortly after moving to the U.S. my life took another unexpected turn. I remember that day like it was yesterday; I woke up with a bad feeling but never imagined what had actually happened. That was the day I heard the words that no child wants to hear: your dad is no longer with us. It felt like a stab to my heart; a part of me was gone. I will never forget how devastated my family was, and this is something I want to prevent in the future as a doctor. The heart of my beloved father, a successful anesthesiologist, had suddenly stopped beating. This tragedy changed my life and my family forever. Since that day, my family, especially my mom, has faced and endured many difficult challenges. This tragic event helped me understand and appreciate the fact that I cannot take life for granted, you never know when it could be your last goodbye. I knew life was not going to be easy and that I had to be strong and serve as a role model for my siblings. Growing up without my dad was very difficult. I knew I had two choices: let sadness take over, or pursue

I remember one day asking my father why it was that he pushed me so hard and seemed to always expect the best out of me. Upon saying this I saw a softness enter his eyes, one that I had seen before, but in some way one that made me feel sadden as I suddenly saw the age enter his face. I knew he was going to say

My father is, and always will be, my role model. Even though he is gone, he is in my heart and will always be on my mind. Before I do something now, I always think, “what would my dad do.” I don’t make excuses for my actions anymore. I live life to the fullest and enjoy what is right in front of me. While I wish he were here during my senior year watching me grow, making memories and life changing decisions; he’s not, but I know he’s watching down and would be proud of me and the man I will

I was a cute kid. A really, really cute kid, up until 1st grade. Then that’s when I started to become the chubby cute kid. I loved junk food and would sneak into the kitchen late at night and find the unhealthiest food my mom had hiding in the kitchen then I would eat it all in one sitting, whether it was a box of chocolate granola bars, a bag of Lay 's Potato Chips, or some delicious leftovers, I would proudly devour them.

The past three years of my life feel like the only part of my life where I have truly lived. The massive majority of my most cherished memories and greatest challenges have taken place within the last few years. On December 26th 2015 my mom surprised me with a intro flight at my local flight school as a Christmas present; it was a simple flight up and down the Miami coastline at five hundred feet right as the sun was setting, and I was hooked the instant my instructor Rudy gave me the yoke. Seeing the city lights ignite the coast as we calmly trekked over downtown Miami was an image that incited a sense of wonder and longing in me that I had never experienced before. That short one hour flight went by in an instant, and before I knew it I was back one week later to begin my journey to where I am today. Over the course of two and one half months I balanced sophomore year of highschool with my private pilot training, finishing two weeks after my seventeenth birthday on March 31st. The next week I started my instrument and breezed through it in two months, and I quickly moved onto my commercial. The biggest obstacle of my commercial training was Time. By the time I was done with my instrument and ready to knock out my next stage of training, I learned that one needed to be eighteen in order to take the checkride. This happened to work out nicely, as it allowed me to focus more on school and enjoying my accomplishments with some relaxing cross-countries to build time.

I enjoyed when people would gaze up at me and express their admiration of my so-called God-given intellectual, as if the most dexterous dancer came out of the womb on pointe. My journey of running in the first tier of the marathon began when I was fighting to reach the fallopian tube as a perplexed cell, and continued to my teenage years of sprinting through the academic block. I had never planned for this increasing momentum to the top of the podium to cease, until last year. No really, I genuinely believed that I would never drop from that spot, and that if I did, my world would be completely demolished-the gazillions of shattered pieces splattered at the bottom of the Atlantic. Well, I guess I did not pacifically need to glue those pieces back together anyway; the peculiar glisten they reflected underwater didn’t seem to be any duller than before.