Why I am Happy

I love love love being home. There is something delicious about being able to be myself unbridled by self-consciousness or the need to be accepted. Admittedly I am my most foolish, frivolous, unguarded self here, there are parts of me here I sometimes wish were all grown up and gone but all the same the tang of being unfettered will always be a taste I savor. Like running through Grandpa's wheat field as a little girl, trying hard to stay in the lines so as not to break the stalks but not caring who saw or what happened to my hair or how much muck I got on my clothes, home has a freedom I can find nowhere else. Being surrounded by people who love me and not only hope but expect me to succeed without reservation is a rare gift.

I love how things change and still somehow stay the same. The baby is taller but she still has a boundless imagination. Next up is braver but still mutters the funniest statements I hear from anyone under her breath. I still can't sleep in the bed I'm assigned. The sister whose room I share is still so like me it's almost frightening, but now she's older and more mature even than I am. There are less of us here but somehow the dynamic is in the same key, even if the harmonies are different. Now mom works but she is still my mom and still makes time for me when I need her. Dad is much more capable on the boat and is much healthier but emergencies and chocolate still creep their way into existence somehow. My parents grow ever more anxious for me to drop their name but it is still a fun family joke.

I love my house. The creaky third stair, the sticky D# key on the upstairs piano, the huge ceiling on the entrance hall where we hang moldy mistletoe at Christmas time, the prickly blackberry bush in the garden, the wall of pictures from before I knew how to smile, the clothes all over the bathroom I still share with three of my sisters, the way the front door shrieks when the Texas winds are too strong, the brown stain-resistant carpet that has lasted through nearly six children's maturation without dying, I love it all. The smells, the tastes, the way the dark granite counters contrast with the pink tile floor, my green bedroom with a blue cloudy sky we never finished painting, the two empty guestrooms that no one stays in cause we would rather giggle with each other whenever we are at home. I love having food in the pantry--so much I often don't know where to start. I love the Young Chang piano I grew up with, the way I have to really dig in to make the sounds I love and the way it pushes back against me as I feed it my emotions. Even the new dog, with his expert sad eyes to beg with, the way he follows me around when we're home alone and sits next to me, just happy to be in the same room as I am in. Delightful, all of it.

I will miss it when I go back. I know that, and even though part of me is excited to begin my second year of grad school, implementing what I've learned this summer and seeing the friends I made up there yet again, right now I'm just soaking it in. The sights, the smells, the tumbled over goodnight hugs after family prayer and scripture study. The way mom is grateful for my dinners even when the rice is still hard and the eggplant is overcooked into a pasty mess. For now, I am me. The purest, most uncensored form of me that is wisely subdued and caged in polite society. For now, I am simply happy.

Who I Really Am

I am stubborn, curious, gullible, optimistic, cautious, foolish, and naive. I am awkward, happy, determined, thoughtful, lazy, uptight, and a little lonely. I love to help out, learn new things, sleep late, and make music. I love children, chocolate, chick-flicks, and fish. My favorite flower is a tulip because I think they are simple with a breathtaking beauty that is somehow understated and part of me wishes I was the same way. My favorite song is Chopin's Raindrop Sonata because I feel that every storm should be cushioned both before and after by gentle rainfall. My favorite place is Texas cause it's where all my favorite people are and I like the pace of life here--quick but still friendly, everyone still worried about everyone else until it's almost annoying. My favorite holiday is Christmas but my favorite season is summer cause I kind of enjoy the feeling of melting just a bit. I love cookies way too much but can usually pass on ice-cream or cake without too much trouble. I hate running but love to eat, so I do the one so I can have guilt-free indulgence of the other. My favorite book is The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society partially because of its name, partially because of its characters, and partially because no matter how many times I read it I can't wait to see how it will end. My favorite body part is my left ear lobe. My favorite grade was first because of my teacher. My favorite park bench is the one hidden behind Parker Square overlooking the fountain and lake where I ate ice cream and giggled and talked for hours with my best friend. I am afraid of my future and too timid to venture out the way I know I must. I still treat my little sisters like the children they were when I first left six years ago. Although I did my best, sometimes I still feel guilty about my mission and wish I could have done a better job. Sometimes I feel like my life is a roller coaster and I'm just hanging on waiting to see where it will take me next, though really I am slowly achieving my dreams and I love the way that feels, and that is an honest description of how I see myself.

The story of the ugly duckling is an intriguing one. I can't think of anyone who at one point or other who hasn't winced just a little bit after looking into the mirror or after an especially vigorous bout of self-examination. I know I have perfected the wince myself. I know in my head I'm not pathetic and hopeless and disgusting and horrible but sometimes I forget. I don't think I'm unique here--I think everyone does. I have met scores of wonderful individuals who refuse to believe they are as good as I see they are. I think the world, in fact, is chuck full of people like this--so amazing, so remarkable and worthwhile that it is a tragedy we can't get to know them all, yet these same extraordinary individuals see themselves as forgettable, friendless, and in some tragic cases even worthless. I'd like to throw out to the universe that the true God who made us doesn't make mistakes. I am convinced that at some point in everyone's life there is a moment. Call me a romantic, I don't care, but I think there is a moment when you come to the edge of everything you know about yourself and you are forced to begin down that dreaded path of anonymity, taking a few steps into the darkness with nothing but faith that everything will turn out alright and you aren't heading toward the destruction of all you've ever dreamed of. Whether you are heading off to school on your own, pursuing a dream everyone is convinced you will fail at, going after the one you're half sure will reject you, accepting the little pink X, or flying off into the crowd of beautiful birds you are taking your moment and creating your future. I am also half convinced that whenever we forgo these journeys into the unknown, whenever we watch the flock pass by as it were we are minutely changing our destiny--not in a way that is irreparable or permanent, but enough opportunities passed by must, by their very lack of existence change us from the person we could have been into the person we are. Luckily life is about consistency and if one opportunity is gone it is common practice for another to fill the void soon after it passes. We are swans. We are not meant to wallow in the shallows of mediocrity. Go take your place.