Youth Excellence 2001 Winning Essay

Life is a series of experiences, each one of which makes us bigger, even though it is hard to realize this. For the world was built to develop character, and we must learn that the setbacks and griefs which we endure help us in our marching onward. --Henry Ford

I squat in the corner of my room, clipboard in hand, contemplating. I hide in the bathroom to avoid the tick tocks of the clock that annoyingly remind me that the deadline is approaching, clipboard in hand, contemplating. I drink two glasses of water in hopes that the liquid will miraculously generate an idea so that I can stop staring at my thumb, clipboard in hand, still contemplating. Despite its simplicity, this question deprived me of sleep for the past three days: What is so unique about me that I can share?

I have not stood in front of 30,000 football fans to sing the "Star Spangled Banner" in the Mile High Stadium nor have I published a sci-fi novel entitled Escape 13 at the age of twelve. After hours of pondering, I realize that I am "unique". My eyes have been opened to witness misfortune, and my heart allowed turbulence in when shutting them both ensured my innocence. I was a five-year old girl, but I saw. I saw how fear swept through my home like a brusque fire. My mother and father's pouring tears, capable of flooding the River of Lamentations, could not extinguish these fury flames. I heard. I heard the corrosive questions that burned my parents' stomachs: Tina! Tina! Where are you? Are you alive? You are thirteen! Why did you runaway? Where? Where? The hospital called three days later. My half-sister, who once played Chinese jump rope with me, laid on white sheets that were amazingly parallel to her own complexion. The questions changed, but they still caused my parents vehement pain: How could you use cocaine? Was it worth this? Did you know that you were pregnant? Why? Why? Each tear drop cast because of her mistake intensified my anger. Why did you not think Tina? How could you do this to our family? That day, I realized I could never be like her - so selfish. Good-bye to the sister who I once admired.

I was an eight-year old girl, but I fell. I fell into an abyss. My father, a man who huddled over me for my protection during an earthquake, lied to me. "I will always be there for you," he promised. What happened to that vow? Did he forget? The night turned colder when my father took his first step inside my home since his departure, yet for a second, my excitement melted my stiff body. I tried to shuffle out of my bed to kiss him hello, but he did not wait. Instead, he ignored my existence and packed the living room TV. A minute later, he walked out the door, and the room felt like it was hurled into the Arctic Ocean. Good-bye to the father who I once cherished. I must no longer weep. I must stop falling and stand on firm ground to help Mom. Good-bye California. I leave for Houston.

I was an eleven-year old girl. I felt. I felt the wall tremble from the dishes' caustic pierces, ruthlessly bashed by my cousin. I feared. I feared for Matthew, my three-year old second-cousin, who was desperate for an escape from a reality that he could only dream to be a nightmare. The poor boy's wail initiated by a final bitter battle between his mother and father made me cry. His wail transmuted to a silent shock the next day when both his parents said, "Adieu" to each other and to him. Poor Matthew. How will he respond to his teacher when she asks him how his Mother's day went? But he should not worry. My mom and I will guide him and care for him. Welcome to my family Matthew.

Mi casa es tu casa. This is not a big family, but our love will compensate your loss. I have asked many questions and received few answers. I have wept till my eyes grew numb and sobbed till my voice cracked. In spite of all this, I am at a peak. Those chaotic days are no longer my enemy. They pounded me and thus molded my perspective and values, and the bruises have ultimately cultivated my character. I can share to others because I do not perceive myself as a sitting star. Instead, I am a shooting star that flies through the sky, enriching itself through its dynamic journey.

Christine Phan.