My Experience In My Life

Have you ever been in a conversation where you have no clue what to say next. Have you ever been in a situation where you see someone you don't know and wanna talk to them but dont have the courage to say anything?

On the Wednesday of the year 2000, my parents have already envisioned how my life would turn out to be. My mother expects much of me only because she was the first to ever attend college in our family. All my life because of that, I was always expected to: go to college, have a successful career just like my mother does, and eventually surpass her. Yet as I grow and develop my understanding of how this chaotic world works, I get lost. Throughout my life, I have had many hardships which I sadly at first did not take care of correctly. I am still human however as I understand that making mistakes is a part of life. Life is about giving the perfect effort. I know as I grow and develop, I don’t need to meet anyone’s expectations as long as I continue to try even when my limit has long been passed. I just want to continue to learn and and improve myself as a person. This world does not choose for me nor does it decide what I have to do with my life. It is my sketchbook and I am the one who decides what to draw in it. Right now, I am doodling the most complex eighteen-hour piece.

As I'm writing this, we have just returned from a 5 day hospital stay. Life has become a series of doctors' appointments, tests, and hospital stays. This is life with a chronic illness. . . especially one of which not much is known. But life wasn't always this way.

The airport right now is packed. The steady sounds of feet against flooring echoes in my ears. A child's scream brings me back from a daydream. For a second I forgot where I was or what I was about to do.  I honestly still can't believe this is happening. Especially to me. From the dull normalized life I live, I am about to throw in a mixture of crazy the likes I couldn't even fathom.

I always have thought to myself how my mother can live up and always stay positive with her rough childhood and adulthood. One day I decided to ask her about her childhood and adolescence years. I then asked her, “Can you tell me about your background years?” She started off by saying “I was raised in a not so amazing neighborhood in New York, which was Queens.” I wanted to know more and get into her life journey even more, so we talked the whole night about her life journey.

Growing up I had a good life. I lived with my brother, sister, and both of my parents together as a good family. My parents really taught me how to be respectful and responsible. I was lucky to have them as good influences in my life. I am not one to disrespect anyone unless they have done me wrong. I grew up caring about school and always wanting to perform well and anything that I do. There were many challenges and events that helped me become the person I am today. One of which is when my family and I had the opportunity to visit our home country, Zimbabwe.

I never imagine my life would turn into a routine after my emotional lost, but there it was. Working late nights throughout the week and going home straight from work became the norm. Most nights I ate whatever was quick and simple to make, and cried until the night engulfed me.

When I look at how different our lives were five months ago so many things run through my mind, “What could we have done differently?” “What could I have done differently?” The week of finals before the end of my junior year I wondered if bad things really do happen to good people, or if good people do bad things that put them into bad places.

Until I was about nine years old, I never felt uncomfortable about myself. Sure I had funny glasses, large frizzy hair, and a smile which stretched just a tad too wide, but it was just who I was. Fourth grade seemed to be the pivotal moment where the issues started which would later go on to shape the rest of my life. It started off innocently enough. Who do you like, do you want to go shopping, can I paint your nails, etc. I would respond simply. I don’t like anyone, I don’t want to go shopping, no I don’t want you to paint my nails. I had no idea then, but these were not the answers people expected me to give. They wanted to know which boy I liked, when we were going to go shopping, and how I wanted my nails painted. Shortly I found myself spending most of my time alone. I didn’t understand it. What was wrong with me? Why did I not like doing the things other girls liked doing? I feared the answers that I might give, so those questions went largely unanswered.

My story begins on the 8th of November an "epic" day. I was born about two weeks early with my twin brother. we weighted about 8 ounces and we could fit in the palm of my dad's hand but not all was good we suffered from asthma and we were also diagnosed with being color blind. we had to be put in machines to help me breathe. That’s all I remember for my first 2 years of being alive. Then disaster struck as we had to go into the foster care system because our parents were drug and alcoholic addicts. Me and my 4 brothers we spilt up into two different homes me and isaac were with one family after about 2 months going home to home. Meanwhile our 3 other brothers were with a different foster family.

Unfortunately, it started Tuesday, May 10th, 2011, usually I go by my parent’s house before work and have coffee and donuts with my mother while we chit-chat about current events about our lives, but, I was running late for work that day.  Afterward, at 10:45 a.m. I started calling my mother’s cell phone but she never answered. At noon, my phone rang and I assumed it was her, but, it was my father. The minute I answered the phone I knew something was wrong. He uttered, “your mother and sister had an accident and the police officer said we must arrive at the hospital right away.” I could feel my gut at that very moment, my life just fell apart. I abandoned work and met up with my father at his house and we rode together, soon after we arrived a Florida Highway Patrol called us inside a small room and asked if we could identify the driver license. Regrettably, it was my mother, I could feel the tears flowing down my cheeks forming streams, my breathing was rapid and the walls were closing. The officer then stood up and gave us his sincere apologies. He indicated that my mother was pronounced dead at arrival and that my sister was inside the trauma part inside the hospital that the doctors were working with her now. I began screaming no and felt my father wrap his arms around my shoulders. Nonetheless, he did his best staying calm and strong for us. Next, we asked if we could visit my sister, but, he said he would ask the doctor and left the room. However, moments went by, I

It is not too long ago that I decided to become a pharmacist. I lived in South Korea most of my life. Back then, I had no idea what I wanted to be other than thinking about immigrate to the United States. I had chance to visit my uncle’s college graduation when I was a little boy and I only dreamed about living in the U.S ever afterward. For example, I decided to go to nursing school simply because there are more chances to move to the U.S as a nurse. The problem was I did not do well in terms of academic performance because I only thought about how to move to the U.S. Additionally, I admitted to hospital couple of times because of a pneumothorax so my gpa bottomed out.

The time was coming near, before I pass I must pass my medicine bag onto my great grandson. I started my journey leaving my home in the reservation where I live. I put on a big black hat with my long black coat, over my bright red satin shirt. I wore my beaded bolo tie under my collar as a formal accent. I had stuffed my boots with money that my family would need to provide for my funeral. Knowing I would not come back I waved to all my friends on the reservation as I boarded the bus to take me to my only living descendents house, which I have been longing to see, and now will get to before I die. The bus ride from South Dakota to Iowa lastest nearly two and a half days. On the bus I mostly tried to sleep or muttered songs to myself, nobody sat near me which didn’t bother me at all. When I arrived I was tired and stiff from sitting for so long, but I was determined to make it to my family’s house. After wandering around the city for a while I had stopped to rest at a large building, nothing here was familiar to me. Suddenly, a large man who had many weapons around his waist come over to talk to me. He was very nice and guided me to the nearest bus stop and told me how to get to Bellview Drive, a street i’ve have been saying over and over again in my mind. I had took the bus that the man had instructed and got off at Bell View Drive. I had been searching for their household by number but when I walked on the sidewalks it was hard to see the other side of the street. So I started walking in the middle of the street looking on both sides as I walked. As I kept walking wolf-like creatures started following me attacking at my feet but I had to find the house so I brushed it aside. Then children started to congregate behind me. I kept walking till Martin had found me and shued my parade away.

Everything comes with time, from age to understanding. I have come to realize many things over the years, but some have been much more significant than others. We have read quite a few pieces as of late, and I feel learning from others is essential in our everyday lives.

My personal life has had many twists and turns that have shaped my life and my view on language as an individual. My life began growing up in a mixed family household: my mother being born in Jordan and moving to the United States when she was young, and my father who has lived in the United States. Growing up in a mixed household I only spoke English and I rarely heard any Arabic in my life. I would only know hear Arabic when I did something wrong or when we were spending time with my mother’s side of the family. While I was very influenced by Arabic culture I was not submerged in the culture so I did not understand all the complexities of Arabic culture in the US. If I grew up in a household where Arabic was spoken regularly (maybe not