My Story Of My Life

My life is finally starting to fall into place, like a missing puzzle piece. It’s been nine long and stressful years, since I had last seen my brother . My dad always told me “ Let time play itself out and hope for the best”. I never thought my dad’s words would come true, until now. This is how it all began,

There was darkness. Nothingness. Except the excruciating pain. But with pain came existence, and with existence hope. Then, slowly, Jacob lifted his head from the ground. As his blurry vision cleared, many things came to him: the fire raging on the wing, the plane lurching as it fell, and the last frozen second before impact.

Born in the cold winter night of December was a little daddy’s princess, Sarika. Yes, it’s me. I am Sarika. That’s the name I was given by my father. The meaning of name Sarika is a bird, a beautiful thing or a princess. Like every father, he chose this name for me because he already knew someday I’ll become independent and soar higher like a bird. From the moment he first held me in his arms and stared into my eyes, he knew that I was very special and had lots of hopes and dreams for the future. On the other hand, my mom was very disappointed that she gave birth to a girl again. She wanted a boy. She had already given birth to four girls. She hoped that fifth one would be a boy. But unfortunately, it was a girl again. In dismay, she even forgot to breastfed me. She wanted to adopt a boy but my father did not agree. My father explained to her that I was the gift of the God and no matter what gender I was, I am his child.

Everyone in high school has a story to tell…how they ran for a jaw-dropping touchdown, had a dream date with the prettiest girl, or got the highest score on a physics test. I’m truly happy for them and without prejudice, I can relate because even as a high school junior, I had my share. Although, I still wonder if any of their stories will be as everlasting: If their episodes had a genuine impact on their lives. Without a doubt, my story has changed my life forever; as it has with my view towards others, my approach to challenges, overcoming fears, adversity, and even ridicule. Above all, it invigorated belief in myself.

Ishmael remembers a time when he was truly happy. He says “standing there with my family,

Most people, including myself, have that one special item or group of items that they cannot live without, but is that all we see them as? Sometimes people think that an object as simple as a pen cannot possibly play a major part in forming someone’s life story, even though they do not know the story behind it. For all they know, that pen is a form of inspiration that pushes its owner to write just like their most cherished authors and just like that pen, I have objects in my life that do the same for me. A few of my most treasured objects that tell my life story are heirlooms my grandpa left me, my Ipod Shuffle, and books. They all have a back story and play a strong role in structuring the backbone of what is my life story.

If I were to say that I attribute who I am today to any one event, that would be the biggest lie I’ve ever told. My story is an easy read, no dramatic tales, no mind- bending feats; it starts with a little girl named Allie who wanted to be a mermaid when she was older. I grew up in an ideal situation, I had two older sisters and a dedicated mom and dad. I played dress- up and house and fit the description of a youngest child perfectly. I was an absolute terror. But I knew what I wanted and I would almost always get it.

Having to talk about myself and tell my story is as nerve wracking as jumping off of a cliff, and I hate heights so that says a lot. I love to listen to people's problems and stories. However, I do not enjoy sharing mine. Explaining to someone why you are the way you are can be an emotional subject and it can also be very intimidating. At least for me it is.

My life was one consisting of quite the amount of tragedies, however, as I tell my tale, I am careful in reminiscing of the delightful times that occurred throughout, despite all the burdensome moments I have endured. My story begins in the early twentieth century, when my parents birthed a healthy girl, a prepossessing little creature. I am delighted to say I had a merry childhood, as my wealthy parents raised me to be nothing short of whimsical, up until I reached my teenage years.

The line continued to slowly move, and I felt the excitement build up inside of me. I was going to meet BTS! And most importantly, my bias, Kookie. At last, I could see the white table, and I craned my neck to get a glimpse of the boys. My eyes narrowed. Kookie. He looked like he would rather be in hell than sitting at the table. He greeted the fans with a look full of annoyance, and gave them the most pathetic high-fives I had ever seen. I could see the slight disappointment in the fans' faces. I walked up to the table, standing directly in front of him, but I acted as if he didn't exist.

Hi Kim, I just wanted to tell you a little bit about my story. I got sucked in when I was 21. At the time I was already having a crisis of faith. On top of that I became incredibly disillusioned with college. I was in the wrong major but at the time it just felt like my life was going nowhere. I prayed to God whom I didn 't even know if I believed in, and the rest is history. They were the first people to come along and I was so weak at the time I could be swayed whatever way the wind blew. I had an incredibly pushy bible teacher that basically tried to befriend me then would threaten to quit studying the Bible with me if I wasn 't making progress. And guess who defined what progress meant. It wasn 't coming to know who God is and coming to love him and his son. It was doing the assigned watchtower tasks. So I did them and was just kind of drug along for the ride. Eventually I was baptized, pioneering and going along with the flow. I had my doubts I can 't remember a time when I didn 't at least have slight doubts. But at the time I was doing what they said, partaking fully in there brainwashing program.

I gave her a weak smile, my eyes just barely open. “It’s fine.” I stepped out of the line and found a seat next to the windows. I stifled a yawn, covering my mouth with the sleeve of my hoodie, and took out my laptop. I leaned against the window, and closed my eyes for a few seconds, letting the fatigue take over me. The past few hours were a series of last-minute study sessions and failed attempts to understand anything at all. My head felt filled to the brim with equations and terms, and I couldn’t wait to relax again.

A dimly-burning fire illuminated the shadows that had begun to slide behind the furniture, its last few divergent, dying embers perfectly mimicking the colors so dutifully draped around the room, reflecting off the red-and-gold trinkets trimming the tops of the shelves and tapestries trailing down the walls. Whatever little warmth it offered only paled in comparison to that which was radiating from right beside me.

My story starts here. I was at Sisters Chicken working my shift with one hour left to go until the end of it. I actually enjoyed working here; the people and staff were very nice. I liked how the walls were painted in a bright blue, but it wasn’t too bright. I was sitting at one of the bigger booths in the back cleaning it after customers had just finished eating. I hated being the one to cleanup. I would much rather be a waitress, I thought.

People don’t realize the sad truth that I’ve been holding on for and secretly suffering with most of my life. People seem to see me as a girl that is naturally bubbly, happy, and outgoing. This was a way for me to hide my real emotions in the time when my depression and anxiety were major factors impacting my self-esteem, just a couple of years ago. So, yes, I admit it -- I was a victim of depression and anxiety. My anxiety has been occurring ever since I was a toddler. My usual anxious behavior would be when I would easily get nervous, wouldn’t talk that well in order to be understood, would go through emotional meltdowns at times, and so forth. My depression however, seem to connect a lot with my anxiety because of my meltdowns and it would easily bring my self-esteem down. One interesting fact about my depression is that it got extreme when I was in middle school. Many events in that time of my life made me feel absolutely worthless inside.