Reflection Paper

Writing has never been one of my strengths. Even in high school, when I took an AP English literature course, I did not enjoy writing papers if need be. Since I did not fancy writing papers, I never developed a systematic writing process. I would write the paper last minute and pray for an A, but college doesn’t work like that. When I came to college, I placed into music classes first so that I could develop those skills, thus leaving my core classes (including English) on the backburner. Although I do not regret this decision, having a two-year gap between English classes made it difficult to readapt. Instead of spending hours practicing instruments and music theory, I faced the challenging task of shifting gears to spend a majority of my time behind my laptop. How was I supposed to manage this new workload?

There is much beauty in communication. This semester, we have been able to use language to discuss and question such abstract, prevalent concepts that united a group of students with different experiences, backgrounds and stories. The open dialogue that was implemented in the classroom allowed us to all feel comfortable sharing our most vulnerable thoughts and memories, and this level of comfortability is hard to establish. The women that you invited to speak: Kristen, Naomi and Jae, all blended perfectly into our space. Additionally, the topics these women brought to the floor correlate to our readings in Stimpson’s Critical Terms for the Study of Gender, allowing us to expand on the literature and make real life connections to the texts. Therefore, Kristen, Naomi and Jae all stem from different backgrounds and specializations, yet have overcome many of the hardships that many of us are currently struggling with, making their messages both engaging and applicable.

In our everyday lives, we tend to categorize people because of their race, culture, their socioeconomic status, and judge people by their looks, age, ability, and gender. When I was working at a daycare past summer of grade 9, I met one Chinese girl who was around 4-5 years old. One time I witness her classmates making fun of her because she has a asian accent when she talks in English, her eyes are small, her mom works at a restaurant with low pay. Even during break, I would always see her sitting in a corner all alone, while others were having fun. Therefore, I took the courage to talk to her. Throughout the conversation, I realized that she was mad at herself because she has a different race from others, language barrier between her and her classmates and she was ashamed of her mother working at a restaurant because other parents work at a higher pay occupation.

Language. A big part of everyone's life since birth, and for me one of the biggest adjustments I had to face at the age of six. Until the age of six I lived in the Dominican Republic, my homeland. I cherished this country like the holy grail and I could never Imagine leaving it behind. Until then, the only language I would speak was Spanish, the language I was raised on. I was very shy as a young kid, I didn't talk as much as I would now, I didn't really interact with a lot of people besides my close friends, which I did everything with at the time. It was great that I could easily communicate with them through Spanish, this would all change when I had to move to the United States. I had to learn English in order to be a successful as a young kid here. Some kids would take years to learn English, some kids weren't even interested at all, but I knew that I needed to learn it as efficiently as I could, I was not all that excited to learn a new language. I was already used to my first language and was afraid of failure when it came to learning english. However, just one teacher changed the way I viewed learning English and helped me enjoy the learning curves of a new language.

Last summer my cousin and I were enjoying a meal with our families in China. It’s been 7 years since I last saw my cousin. We are about the same age and my favorite memory of her was celebrating her 11th birthday. I remember my uncle and aunt sitting to my right and my grandparents sitting to my left singing happy birthday as she blew out her candles. It has been so long I almost couldn’t recognize her when I arrived at the airport 2 weeks prior. My mom receives a call and leaves the room to pick up her phone. She comes back 10 minutes later in tears. She breaks the news to the family and that our trip would be cut short. She was diagnosed with breast cancer. In the following week, we pack up our bags and head out to the airport. She had to start treatment as soon as possible. I knew I would become the man of the house to take care of my mother and brother, who has autism, while my dad worked in New York.

Since arriving on campus, I have been asked how I came to Miami several times. Some would say that coming here is destiny, but I disagree. Psalm 139 says that before I was born, “in Your book they all were written, the days fashioned for me, when as yet there were none of them” (NKJV, Psalms 139:16). While there are several main components about which I will write, I keep coming back to the fact that God placed me here.

Looking in the mirror at the actual physical presentation of myself, I investigated what other people view when they looked upon me. At that moment, I began to realize what the features are interpreted as. My hair is pulled up and tight, various people have suspected military, but I have never been enlisted. My glasses and crooked teeth would suggest that my parents were low income, no corrective surgery or braces for me. My body image would be identified, instantly by women, as having children and I do have two sons. After one eight-pound boy and the other almost ten-pound baby my body did not return to its original dimensions, there was no weight trainer or nutritionist for me. My calloused hands will tell anyone that I am a blue-collar worker and the ring on my left tells them that I am married. Progressing through college and beyond will be my way out of the shell that society has created me in, it will be my golden door to freedom.

In my senior year of high school, I earned my Certified Nurse Aid licensure. This was a huge accomplishment for me because I would love to have a job in the medical field and this was an opportunity to get my foot in the door. I was hired by a nursing home in Wilmington, I couldn’t wait to go to work and start making real money. I have to admit, I was mainly excited for the huge pay raise compared to my previous landscaping job. When I started my job, I was mainly working to earn a paycheck. It didn’t take long for me to realize that my job wasn’t just a job. My duties as a Certified Nurse Aid included assisting the residents with everyday activities, cleaning, and recording vitals. In the beginning, I found myself just going through the motions and doing whatever was asked of me. Normally, I work third shift which is from 11pm-7pm. I decided to work this shift because I wouldn’t have to give up my precious hours during the day. Also, I assumed it would be easier because all the residents would be asleep. I really enjoyed my job, I knew I was helping people and that made me feel good. It just didn’t seem to sink in that what I was doing was having a huge impact on other people’s lives. Soon enough. I would realize how important my job was.

Everyone has multiple chapters in their life, that create a story. Also, everyone has a chapter of their life they don’t read out all. I have mine, just like all of the other twenty three individuals in this classroom. This single story reminds me of challenge day in the eighth grade. Everyone read the chapter of their life out loud that they don’t usually share. This day was a day to reflect on the internal struggles people go through. This specific chapter people read in their head over and over until it consumes them. Mine may not be the most interesting one you’ll read but it will tell you significant events about my uneventful life. Here we go…

I grew up in Greenville, South Carolina. Having had grown up in the south, I was always around people who are more traditional in viewpoints, especially when surrounding the Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Transsexual/Transgender, Questioning, and more community. I received my education at a high school where no one hesitated to throw around extremely derogatory terms. Throughout my schooling I had found close friends who had expressed their feelings of not fitting into their biological sex. Every time I heard them talk about their feelings I felt my heart sinking. I knew it was not fair. I found myself constantly feeling their pain. Feeling all their fear, anger, and sadness along with them because I knew that they lived in fear of people finding out who they really were and what their reactions might be. It broke my heart that they were forced into constantly fearing for their safety.

Every school has these four main academic subjects: English, Math, Science, History/Geography. The class I like the most in my eighth grade school year is History. This is because we get to learn about different time periods, different people, different religions, and so much more. We don't just sit in class and read out of a textbook. We get to do fun activities to help us understand more. While we work, we talk to our teacher and have funny and weird conversations. We make fun of each other and have a good laugh. I'm always excited to go to History class.

Over the history of this country, many families across the globe have come to the U.S. in hopes of a better life. My family was one of the many that decided to leave our home country and come to the United States. We never realistically imagined coming to America, but when we did, it was a real dream come true. Knowing I was coming to this country as a student was especially exciting for me personally. We were so excited about this new adventure and the opportunities we would have, despite the many challenges that lay ahead. Two of the obstacles I had to overcome, were having to learn a new language, and build new relationships.

At a young age, I have always dealt with internal issues such as anxiety. Art is one way I could let myself become calm, it has always been there for me when I needed it, but it soon became a problem once I was made aware that Islam would not allow my way of coping. As an aspiring artist I was told by my Islamic teachers that drawing images, anything with a soul, is a mockery to Allah and his ability to create! According to them, I was honoring the man-made idols that were worshipped by the people of Madinah eventually leading them astray in the times of prophets, that I would be punished for my sin. Soon after though, I would see the broad perspective of religion and belief. For many years, I have been told that nothing else was the truth, except for Islam. With so many days spent inside my home, four years of being in an Islamic private school, and being fed nothing but traditional Islamic ideals and opinions, I would grow up to have a closed mind to the Liberal American way. I countered their overwhelming claims. I came to understand that I had the power to make my own decisions in life and that I could determine what made me happy, what made me a good person, even if that meant rebelling against the way I was raised and taught to live since birth. This was the toughest decision of my life.

Despite my intellect, most colleges would classify me as a mundane, unimpressive person. I'm a white, heterosexual, Christian male: the most stereotypical example of a privileged person in America. I have experienced privilege, but I have also experienced hardships and inequitable stereotypes.

It was two and a half years ago, in Conroe, Texas. The sun beat down and drew every bit of moisture from my breath. Every move that was made was a sweaty and laborious process. I was atop a steel frame, eight stories in the air. Laying on my belly with my feet dangling over the side pulling measurements and creating pools of sweat in my safety glasses. This was a typical Monday for an ironworker; pouring sweat by 8:00 a.m., cursing the sun, and disregarding your own personal safety to benefit someone else’s interests.