The Road Closer to Home


December 16, 2000. My mother was forever put to rest on that cold, rainy day. Cancer, the vile beast, had eaten away at her body and sanity until she decided enough was enough. My mom had never been a quitter. That was her first and last time. I remember standing before her coffin filled with hopelessness and feeling helpless because of it. Hope is such a fragile thing and I had been too careless with it. Each of our lives is like an hourglass held carefully on a balance meant to tip over ever so slightly and no more; mine had fallen and shattered. The grains of my memories spilled across with valley of mourning and I ran after them, desperate to hold on to the splintered remnants of what defined my world. I hadn't known how precious she is and my ignorance had forced her away; I felt numb with the realization that it was I that had ultimately devastated her world and mine. I stood in the rain trembling not at the cold, but at the thought of having to live with only half myself. Before my every eyes, my life had crumbled and scattered into an endless black abyss and because of this, I felt like a child, lost in the dark with only my blind eyes and deaf ears to guide me back to the home I didn't have.

I'm living in a place with people who wear the mask of family but bear the soul of strangers. I'm a prisoner in this place I dread to call home and only myself and my captives are aware of it. My mother left me to an unfaithful step father who remarried a little less than a year after her passing. I loathe him. He never deserved her. An angel had been sullied by his hands and I was the only witness. I'm forced to live with a man who abhors my very existence but tries, not very hard, not to show it. I watch his family be a family and I feel like an intruder, one that doesn't belong on the inside or outside of anything. At nights I shed bitter tears, cursing my life and feeling childish doing so. I don a smile despite the sting of tears behind my eyes and bite back sobs for fear of being weak. Every day is a battle in my war against demons I can see but can't understand, and I feel like I'm slowly losing. And I can't lose. Not yet.

Because of my fear of facing my reality, I began to see the realities of everyone around me. Everywhere I turn, people strive to reach success -- whatever success happens to be. I see them -- and inadvertently myself -- take on life one step at a time and realize how vain their -- our -- efforts are. If everyone is taking life one step at a time, no one would be moving forward. Without knowing it, we've all been walking through our lives at the same pace, one step at a time. I don't want to fall into place. I want to reach the finish line. I don't want to be the runner-up. I want to be first. So what if I took two steps? Maybe, if I took two steps, I would get somewhere. Maybe I could begin to understand the Life that I fear but wish to know. I don't know exactly what I want as of yet. I do know that I don't want to be blinded by the illusion of single step dreams; I don't want to hold on to dreams that aren't really there. I want to find that one place where I'll finally belong, a home that'll be my home; I want to understand this impossible-to-solve mystery called Life and succeed in finding my truths to happiness.

I want to find my dream.

I will find my dream.

I have to.





This is the prompt:

Describe the world you come from -- for example, your family, community or school -- and tell us how your world has shaped your dreams and aspirations.


Did I do well or totally bomb?

Defining Myself

*NOTE: Read first prompt FIRST... or it'll seem off.

I remember reading The Tragedy of Julius Caesar during my 10th grade honors English class. Brutus had murdered Caesar because he and the other councilmen had feared the magnitude of his ambition. I hadn't understood why; I had been one of the few who had admired his ambition. It so mirrored that of myself, one of the two qualities that almost make me who I am. People can't simply be defined with words; we're much too complicated for that. But words try.

Ambition. The will -- my will -- to win. Despite my pathetically dark past, and none too bright future, I always, always try to win. Most of the time, I do. Not always, but almost. Life is a game that everyone plays to win; I'm going to win. My past won't bring me down. I'm a player who intends to win no matter how high the odds are stacked against me. My mom had quit once. I don't plan on following her footsteps in that direction. One is one too many in life.

Perseverance. The will -- my will -- to survive. This is why I must win, to survive. In this society in which social Darwinism establishes and breaks the rules, I will be the fittest to win, to survive. Taking on my life two steps at a time may not be enough sometimes. I might fall behind. I might altogether lose my way or be purposely thrown off course by another. I might grow tired of the same scene passing me by. I won't cry or give up. I'll find a different road. Maybe, I'll find a shortcut.

People don't start off this race to the finish line with a map or compass. We only have our hearts and our wits to reach our goals. I will guide my heart with my will to win and employ my wits with my will to survive. Ambition and perseverance. Two words, two meanings that are so closely related they could be twins. They will be my key to unlocking the door to the path that will lead me to what I will define as victory.
 



This is the prompt:

Tell us about a personal quality, talent, accomplishment, contribution or experience that is important to you. What about this quality or accomplishment makes you proud and how does it relate to the person you are?


I feel like I totally killed this one.. T^T constructive criticism completely welcome.