An essay about me written for my english class.
As the weather starts to change we become closer to the truth
To many people the relationships they build with others is something that possesses a very dear sentimental facet of their heart and emotions. This is a case of ubiquity, but I feel as though in my case, introspectively and personally, the relationships I have built over the years have in a way manifested themselves into a carbon form, life like. I feel as though the bonds I have built with others may very well be bonds between strands of DNA in my spectral soul. They make up what I am in entirety. These relationships come together to make the whole the sum of its parts. These relationships have made me the person I am today.
Physically, I can say that one person has made me realize the potential that I am able to achieve within this tactile world. It is not uncommon to see a pair of two adolescents walking down the street next to each other perhaps on a Saturday night. Moreover, it’s a common occurrence. However, the walks I have with my sister are more than mere strolls of the moment. Rather, they are promenades of mental growth. As my legs move back and forth, scratching the granular back of the earth’s skin, I feel neurotransmitters pumping away within the mental edifice of my mind. Indeed, physical exercise is important for mental health and that is something I have come to embrace with full fruition. My sister has been with me along this journey and through the thick and thin, we walk it out. Whether it is to the mall or just down the street to the store to fetch some sugar my mother needs, we always walk.. Some of the fondest memories I have of my sister include those in which we have walked endless miles down the street with no clear path in mind, with no clearer a path lying in front of us. The night is a blurry indigo, and vermilion hues are dancing in the background. I am behind my sister, having dropped something and slowly catching up. Her strides are those of lithe seaweed. I call to her, “Erica!” She turns back, her hair like pewter strands of heaven. I run up to her, as the world stays behind me in slow motion.
I am a heavily mental person. I have always enjoyed, perhaps to an extent which supersedes any other interest, learning new things. I love letters and I love the ideas that they form when put together. I love how words are like water, when spilled out onto a piece of paper, as water spilled out onto a dry and cracked cement floor does, taking whatever shape, seeping into whatever cracks they please, until they form expressive ideas that a person may cogitate upon. I feel like my mental abilities were finally awakened in 11th grade, after years of fooling around and barely getting by. I had a teacher named Leanne. She was an older woman with glasses that made her eyes look too small and shoes that made her feet look too big. She was a lovely person and I admired the charismatic, yet subdued, spunk that she brought to teaching English. She was the archetypal teacher, in my eyes. And that was beautiful. She opened doors for me that I never would have even known existed. That year I spent with Leanne in her classroom for one hour everyday was the best scholastic year of my life. The essays, the multiple choice tests, and the pure love of linguistics in all its vastly infinite beauty, were things that made me realize I had a deep, entrenched penchant for writing. She made me realize that there is beauty in unknowing, and that all I had to do was ask. She had a firm touch when critiquing my essays, but her feedback was as helpful as could ever be. She helped me excel in the field of English and paved the path for my mental acceleration as it is today. Thanks to her wonderful methods of teaching and even more marvelous, humanistic characteristics, I was able to achieve a 5 on the AP English test in May of that year. On the first day of senior year I almost automatically went to her classroom and we both knew why I was there. I hugged her and we rejoiced in the achievement made possible by the wings of my knowledge and the wind she provided, her support, to keep them elevated.
The topic of spirituality is one that I come across every day of my life. I was born and raised a Christian, and embraced the religion as I should have. My mother would take me and my sister to church practically every Sunday. We would sing the gospels and partake in the gaiety that ensued. I think this is why my mother liked religion; it was a happy thing, a form of escapism. Nevertheless, time went on and I learned new things and met new people. I’m so glad that I did. I have known my friend Aram since 3rd grade. At this level of acquaintanceship we are practically family and indeed I think of him as such. Aram was also born and raised a Christian, and like me he would embrace the gospels and dance with the power of the Lord. However we both, one day, came to the realization that spirituality has no place in either of our lives. Aram and I have since then embarked on a journey filled with philosophy and reason. We value the topics of existentialism, nihilism, and absurdity of our existence. We no longer worship any god, and we do not partake in the gospels of yore. We have come to terms with our spirituality and have bid it adieu. Aram has been pivotal in my conversion, I would say. Exchanging such radical ideas with another human being, as the ideas we do, honestly brings you closer to someone in a, dare I say, spiritual, way that nothing else really can. I value him as a friend not because he goes with me to the mall or gives me critique on what I wear, but rather because he values logic and reason over faith. I don’t know what I would do without him for this reason, and in the years to come we will certainly and inevitability endeavor into the warped chasm of our reality, never once stumbling across faith or religion as a scapegoat to the truth.
I feel as though the aforementioned doesn’t estimate as much as it should in terms of how much each facet makes up of me. What I mean to say is that so far, 3/4 of me are explained, and 1/4 is left to be unveiled. Although in actuality, I don’t feel as if any of the aforementioned topics, single or compounded, could even come close to being how much the final topic makes up of me; that final topic being emotion. Emotion is something that many people are disdainful of and look down upon. People will say that a man who worships emotion over reason is foolish and will produce fruitless exploits, or will cause calamities and travesties for years to come. I however, value human emotion as something bigger than myself, bigger than anything around us. The person who taught me how to truly appreciate the emotional bond between two human beings is someone whom I have known since the beginning of my time. She raised me and she handled me as a precious gem, a delicate object. This is what I have been told. This beautiful, splendid woman is my great grandmother. Her name was Maria, and was the only person on this earth with whom I’ve had a relationship so fervent, so hopelessly strong. I use the word hopeless because I really didn’t start to appreciate the wonderful person that she was until she was older. She was my great grandmother, so her age doesn’t seem to be much of a concern to me. But it does. What I’m trying to say is that Maria encapsulated every beautifully haunting thing about childhood. Childhood, she said, is haunting because one doesn’t know that it will only come once in their life. And, perhaps, even if that person did know and was told this by his or her parents, they would brush it off as seemingly unimportant and merely peripheral to their daily life. This absurdity about childhood, almost a paradox, is something that makes life even more beautiful. She told this to me when I was 16. I remember that age being the best year. And every year after that only got more beautiful because I got to spend it with her. I spent New Year’s Eve at her house. She made too much food for us, and we stayed up all night until she inevitably fell asleep. This was the routine. Too much food and staying up all night. It was honestly the living definition of childhood. I loved every single moment of those times. I, however, knew that every good thing must soon come to an end. Maria was no exception to the rule. That year she died. That year the greatest thing to ever happen to me was going away, on a permanent vacation to a place no one knows, but which everyone calls “eternal bliss.”
Aram, Erica, Leanne, and Maria. Such splendid beauties of human beings. Each encapsulating a certain aspect of human life; spirituality, physicality, mentality, and emotionality. Each rivulets of a pond starting its long journey down a mountainside, or a desert terrain. Each a droplet of water making up the whole. The Gestalt streams finally merging into one essence. A million trickles of water slowly, and uniformly, coming together at one point to make up something greater than each of them; slowly coming together in the dawn of day to rebirth into something more than they could ever have wished for.