My Love Of Family

Flurries of snow roiled in motion under the command of capricious, roaring winds. I stood and marveled at the sight as my eyes traced the white balls thudding against the ground and architectures all at once at exactly the same speeds. Particles of snow danced in joyful synchronization in mid December of ‘05. This was my earliest recollection. This was the day I left my family 12,678 kilometers away to come to the United states for the pursuit of a better way of life. I remember sitting on a rusty old bench on the first day of Kindergarten. The sounds of children at play echoed from the playground, stomping and running and laughing. None of the worries of adults crossed their minds, only how to elude capture by their friends. The rhythmic creaking of swings went back and forth, and some kids tried to time their jumps from the swings to the rhythm. I was one of those children growing up who would pry open a brand new remote control car to pull every component apart than play with it. I surmise this is where my love of engineering truly began.

Curiosity, undoubtedly, is one of the universal characteristics of a child. The innate desire to explore and understand comes just as naturally as eating and sleeping. For example, I was eager to discover how my mother was able to play such enchanting melodies on the piano. While she methodically pressed each key, I observed as the corresponding hammer struck a set of strings to produce a pleasant sound. My curiosity and the love of music sparked my desire to learn the piano; thus, leading me to learn and ceaselessly play for the past 12 years.

Ever since I was a little girl I would sing everywhere, in the bathroom, the car, at school, and at parties but my favorite spot has always been in the shower. I would never sing in front of my brother, he would always tease me about my voice. Being teased made me feel like I wasn't good enough. Because of that I stopped singing for a while. At that time, I didn’t know what to do singing had been part of my life even before I even came out the womb. I've been told my aunt would sing to me frequently. I felt completely at lost, I was unidentifiable with myself. I need music in my life.

Passion; an intense desire or enthusiasm for something. The latin origin of the word ‘pati’, meaning to suffer. For me running is my passion in every sense of the word.

To adequately explain my immense love of the arts and social sciences, I must first recount my experiences of art and how that experience shaped me to become, and I quote my mother, the “artsy fartsy” person I am today. Like any child, when I was in elementary school, I changed what career path I wanted to pursue frequently. In kindergarten, after watching Bob Ross paint in an afterschool infomercial that a teacher showed (and being so enthralled with it, I nearly cried), I decided I wanted to be an artist. A traveling art merchant who lived in Paris because to me, France was the epicenter of artistic innovation. My mother encouraged me to follow my heart, and I did. I'd won several local art competitions by the time I was ten and life was good. Sadly, by the time I was in third grade, my romanticized view of art had changed drastically. I was disenchanted with the art scene in my town, and I told my mother that I wanted nothing to do with crayons, let alone a full-blown art career. Not surprisingly, I quickly latched on to another hobby, singing. My passion for singing, at the time, was so pure and my talents were limitless. My friends and family told me it was a natural gift, and that I was given a vocal range that rivaled even the best in the business, and I believed them. They fueled my desire to train my voice, to join every local choir I could, and to eventually even travel as far as Los Angeles to showcase my talents. But, I slowly became disenchanted with singing

It seems like from the moment I could walk, I have had a love for dancing. When I was little, every chance I got, I would perform in front of my family. Whether I was singing, dancing, dressing up, or pretending to be a model on the runway, I wanted all the attention on me. When my mom put me into dance classes, I instantly fell in love with it, because the whole time, I got to do what I loved the most: perform. As the years went on, dance became something I was truly passionate about, and the lessons I learned from it began to change me. Those lessons and the ones I am still learning from dance have had a huge impact on me, making me into the person I am today.

Ever since I was a little girl, I’ve had a deep love for art. Whether it was painting, drawing, dancing, music, acting, or building and designing, I was completely into it and I wanted to know everything and anything about it. As I began to grow up, I also started looking more deeply into it and doing more historical research to learn about different types of art, techniques used, the way artists think or what their creations mean, and what inspired them. It fascinates me. When I was 4, my dream was to become a painter. I would wake up early in the morning to watch Bob Ross paint and buy art kits, sketchbooks, paint, brushes, coloring utensils, craft supplies, or anything else that I could get my hands on. I was obsessed.

Sitting down at the table, ready to dig into our delicious Thanksgiving dinner, we all exchanged concerned looks when my mom brought out the turkey. My mom wanted to host Thanksgiving a few years ago, thereupon she worked like a super hero days prior in preparation. She was very worried because she had to juggle work, along with getting ready for Thanksgiving. Everything was ready; my family was gathered around the table, but when we cut into the turkey it wasn’t fully cooked! My extremely understanding family all helped cook the turkey while we poked fun at my mom. Everything ended up being wonderful because of my fabulous family. This is just one example of why I have a tremendous amount of love for my family. I have many memories that have given me marvelous childhood memories, all thanks to my excellent, supportive family. My supportive parents, my witty brother, and my two loving grandmas are a huge part of my life and the most supportive people I know!

Granddad I blame you, I blame you for everything that had happened to our family year. I blame you for all the heartbreak and the tears that my family had cried. You were supposed to be the “head” of our family but, no you let me down, you let every family member down. I have been holding in these feelings for years but you are getting older and so am I. I’m trying to forgive you. I want to forgive you, but first I need to explain to you what you did to me.

“Mom, why is the sky blue?” Questions have overtaken my life from the time I was a toddler. My younger days would start out with an overwhelming amount of questions for my poor parents. Quite often, they would have to answer with the iconic, “that’s just how it is” in order to stop my ever flowing narrative of curiosity. Like most, my childhood was filled with a natural interest in the world and how it worked. My yearning to know all not only shined through my juvenile character, but also in the amount of interest in school that I began to take part in.

I can only describe my childhood as eventful and ever-changing. Though I was, for the most part stationary in where I lived, I feel as if that too has been as forward moving as my life. I’ve gone to several different schools and been put into so many different environments, being more unique and more diverse than the last. At the same time, I watched as the area that I called my neighborhood change in accordance with my new experiences. It has gone from being this sleepy mix of an urban and suburban area to being a well-populated, busy center of commerce. The borough of Queens is where my siblings and I have called home for the last twenty-one years. We grew up in Corona, one of the many different neighborhoods in the borough, and have never really lived anywhere else. The same could be said of our cousins that live in Brooklyn, as they have lived in the Flatbush neighborhood their whole lives, and in the Bronx. However, all of our parents were not born in the area we were raised in. Instead, they all had immigrated to New York City from Africa years before any of us were born. They all, at one point or another, have talked about how the city is fairly different from their home country and how several practices that might’ve been common to them aren’t so common here. While we, as children, were shaped and influenced by our current environment and more or less became part of the neighborhood instantly, our parents had to adjust to

I have so much to be thankful for in this world but, I think my family is the most important. Till this day I don’t think I could have made it day by day without my family. I believe my love for my family is important because they trust each other, support each other, and are always there to help when needed. I believe these four virtues of family suggest why my family resonates as the most important because of support, love, builds on shared memories, and reinforces responsibility.

My whole family lived in Edison, New Jersey and I only saw my dad, brother, grandmother, grandfather, and my mother during my childhood. My mother was the person who had always helped me stay on the track to success. I called my mother Ma as a toddler because, I followed my brother in every way. Our culture was to call our mother Mama, but we could say Ma for short. My brother, Michael, called mother, Ma, and so I caught on. Ma was a hardworking, positive, and helpful parent. She wanted me to have a great future and has kept pushing me throughout the years of my life. The most important years Ma helped me through to become who I am was through the child years.

On January 17, 2016, my family and myself travelled about two hours to a small town called Yantis in east Texas. The elders of our family would always get together multiple times a year to catch up and see each other since they were getting to an age where they can’t depend on themselves being here on this Earth. Out of the seven or eight senior members of the family, two or three had already passed by this time. Our Uncle Charles was not looking good either, over the past few months he went from multiple doctor check-ups a week, to being in the hospital, and then ultimately hospice care.

During the summer of 2008, my family and I took a trip to Rome. I had anticipated this for most of that year, and I was very excited when the day finally arrived to leave. Summer break was already a month in, and I had been packing for the last few days. The flight was almost nine hours, and most of the flight I slept. When we arrived in Italy, we went to our hotel and for the next few days, we went to many places like the, Colosseum and the Pantheon. We also went to many restaurants that reflected the Italian culture. I recall tasting a margarita, and it being some of the best pizza I 've had, it was thin and delicious. A few days into the trip, my parents decided to take us to the Sistine Chapel. At the time I had minimal knowledge of world history, so I did not understand what this place was, but once we arrived, I was amazed by its size , the beauty of the painting and I when I realize how old it was, I found it very interesting. We decided to take a tour, along with a tour guide, telling our group information along the way. Although we were in a group, there was a mass of other people, as well as many other tours going on. We would go to many rooms, some people would stay in a room, while others would move on. There was so much to see, and since there was art on the ceiling, my eyes were mostly locked above me. In a particular room, I had gone ahead, while my parents had stayed. I thought I had remembered what room they were, and how to get there from where I was, but I