17 September 2013
Comfort in Song
Graduating middle school was the saddest day of my youth, but, at the same time, it was the most exciting time of my life. I always remembered hearing my four older siblings tell me what an amazing experience high school was because of what it had to offer. I could not wait to meet new people and make lifelong friends and memories. Even though middle school was an amazing experience for me, I was more than prepared to take on a new, more puzzling challenge. I felt like I was going to be on top of the world when I attended High School. It was not until Orientation day for my high school that I began to question whether or not I was going to fit in with the rest of the crowd. The first few days of high school I was painfully shy. I was constantly getting lost in the hallways and going to the wrong classes. I felt overwhelmed by the hundreds of unfamiliar faces. This shy mentality broke my confidence. Even making decisions like how I should wear my hair, or what I should bring for lunch became difficult. I started to slowly make my way to the back of the class, sitting quietly, and only talking if the teacher asked me to. This new mentality broke me down. I began to question whether or not I was pretty enough, smart enough, funny enough, or worthy enough. The first two weeks of high school was spent in complete silence, making it the most challenging time for me in my four years of high school.
My dad died in the summer of 2007, a couple years before I would graduate middle school. He was the smartest guy I knew. He was the one person that taught me how to see the beauty in the smallest things, no matter how insignificant. He taught me how to be myself, and to never let anyone belittle my presence. If it weren’t for my dad, I wouldn’t have had the confidence I did before high school. He reminded me to always maintain an insatiable joy for exploration and discovery. I was in need of his advice. It was then that I realized he was my missing piece of my high school years.
During the first few weeks of classes, teachers ask students to bring in collages that summarize up who they are. I remember going into one of my closets at my house looking for pictures of me when I was younger, and some old magazines I used to collect for cut-outs. While rummaging through these cardboard boxes, my hands stumbled across an iPod. Sure enough, it was the one that my father gave me the Christmas before he passed. It looked brand-new, and untouched by time. I turned it over and saw how the iPod was engraved “to my Princess” on the back of it. I abandoned my current project and took on a new one—finding an iPod charger. I remembered that my dad had put songs on the iPod for me because it was the first time I had ever owned an MP3. The songs on the iPod are what allowed me to remember who I was, and remember what my father thought of me. All of the songs were about inner beauty, and understanding one’s self-worth. My dad made it clear to me that he never wanted me to forget what made me who I am, and why I am so special.
The object that describes me the most would be the iPod that my dad gave to me. Like the iPod, I was lost for a little bit, but lost in a familiar place. All I needed to do was adventure inside of myself. Of course, my first few songs on the iPod were about inspiration and self-confidence, all of which I needed to get passed my feelings of insecurity. But overtime, I began to add additional songs, songs that mirrored my personality. In high school, music reminded me who I was, and helped me become who I wanted to be. I slowly began to crack the shell that sheltered me from the rest of my class. And soon enough, I was beginning to make meet new people who appreciated me for who I was.