Tuesday, February 1, 2011

Personal Narrative.

I would have to say I am very pleased with this assignment.
Whether you read it or not does not matter to me.
But if you do,
this took me forever and may not be exactly perfect but it means a lot to me.

I Am a Woman Who Waits
                We, as humans on this earth, seem to be always waiting for something. Big or small, we are waiting.  We wait for rain in a drought; snow in the winter; a bright summer day.  We wait for life’s beautiful cycle to begin, and inevitably for life to end. Most of our lives are spent waiting in lines. Row by row we stand, and as time is passing, we are waiting.  I find myself doing just this, waiting in lines, and thinking about the two main things I am always waiting for; two things that will change my life forever and bring meaning to my existence here each and every day I breathe.
            I am told I resemble my great aunt, Luana, a woman of big dreams and magnificent potential, a woman who was waiting too. She lived a life much like mine and could have been the best friend or twin sister I never had. She was far from ordinary; a free spirit who relied on creativity, happiness, and love to get her through any obstacle. She had deep blue eyes, like mine, but quite different. My eyes are like cat eyes, sharp, but sweet at times.  Luana’s eyes may have been the same color but when you looked into them, it was as if peace was on the earth again and there were no such things as wars and contention, so my grandma says. I only wish I could have met this glorious woman; She only lived to be 16 years old, therefore, I never had the chance. I guess you could say then she really didn’t have a life like mine at all. I’m here, still living it, so who is to say that if she didn’t die we would have had different qualities, likes and dislikes? Our lives could have been completely opposite from each other. Ask anyone who knew her though, and they would agree she was too young and too talented to have her life dramatically end before it really could even begin. The drunk driver who killed her, never allowed her to finish her waiting. She left the earth without knowing if all her waiting was worth it.
            I remember when we found her suitcase behind the old-fashioned floral couch in great grandma’s basement. The old, blue, rectangular suitcase looked like something you pay for in an antique store and set up for decoration and display. You could have probably seen something like it in the film, “The Notebook.”  That was about her era; An Era that I find so classy and elegant in every aspect of living, I could have happily lived in those days. The casualty of the shape, color, and material could have deceived you from the treasures my mother and I found hiding inside. As we opened the worn, silver latches we uncovered Luana’s life, piled in stacks of handwritten letters, sketches, and aging pictures, all dating back to times before her accident. We came over baby pictures and portraits, painted by my grandmother, of her and her siblings, watercolor and finger paintings from her third and fourth grade classes, and journals filled with thoughts straight from her heart of her life and what she perceived it to be. The sketches were of dresses and other articles of clothing designed by her, and attached were squares of fabric; the fabric she would have used to create these masterpieces. They were absolutely beautiful, unique pieces of art, a talent she could have gone far with, a talent she was waiting to see grow and become successful.  Here I was holding her life in my hands, taking a look into her soul. I believe this is where my fear began.
            The letters were my favorite part. At age 15, Luana fell deeply in love with a young man who treated her like she was the queen of the world. They sent letters to each other; love notes that expressed their undeniable feelings, hopes and dreams for their future as one. He loved her just as much as she loved him, and you could see it in every word he wrote. As I read his letters repeatedly, I was captured by certain words he would use to show his infinite love: “My Dear,” “forever,” “an eternity as one.” He called her “beautiful” in every letter and never forgot to say, “I love you.”  These letters were priceless documents; poetry that could only be understood by those who know of love and its true beauty. As a young girl reading these, I found myself lost in a fairytale, believing this type of, “sent love,” was only found in Luana’s era and I would never experience this joy in my life. I saw my future love life filled with little messages sent through texting and emails. Little did I know, in my early college years I would be receiving my own, “sent love,” from the love of my life on his mission in Texas, living my own fairytale.  My grandma found such love at an early age as well, although at the time it was forbidden. You see, Luana and my grandma grew up during the United States war against Japan, with a mother who had a strong heart and a stubborn personality, therefore, my grandma was sent away from home, never to speak to her former love again: a boy of Japanese descent.
 I often wonder if love comes as result of a genetic trait passed on throughout the generations. All the women in my family have found true love rather early in their lives, me included. As I ponder my own future, I find myself contemplating an unexplainable passion for marriage and family relationships, mainly the connection and interaction between husband and wife. Problems within a marriage intrigue me, and true, real-life love stories excite me, but am I ready to get married, to make the most important, binding commitment of my life? In a magical, fairytale perspective, yes! The glow from a beautiful, loving couple is so lovely, so pure and sweet you could never describe nor explain those intimate feelings without personal experience: falling in love yourself. Finding true, sincere love is what I have dreamt about my whole life and wanted more than anything. Although I might say I am ready for this, I can’t help but be brought to the actualization that there are many things I need to learn before I can say “I do.” Over the years, as I have generated an interesting hobby of couple watching and observing the relationships of my sisters and their husbands grow, along with an extraordinary Marriage prep class taken because of self-interest, I am learning and starting to apply the fundamentals and principles of a beautiful and successful marriage today.  Through all this studying and self-evaluation, I realize the uniqueness and specialty my own love story, and though no one is perfect, my fairytale is.
It’s the first day of my high school career and for a girl who had a boyfriend, was on the drill team, and more confident at that point in her life than ever, I couldn’t have been more nervous.  Until now, I never would have guessed that first step into my very graphic and entertaining health class would be a moment I cherished forever.  I sat next to Cameron Hunt on the front row in that class all semester, where he always made me draw his pictures and we talked about life and acted silly in advisory period; we always were in advisory because of grades, even though I was a good student, maybe I wanted that extra time with him. It was the perfect setting for a teenage crush. We went on our first date during that semester, and even though I had a boyfriend, it resulted in the best date I had that year. When the semester ended, we lost touch, and it wasn’t until summer after my junior year, while I was on vacation to Nauvoo, that I received a very unexpected and simple text from him, a subtle “hi, how are you?” that led to a series of events, overflowing with mixed emotions. Our likeness for each other ran on a ridged, bi-polar track and we had no idea how to control it. Days went from rafting down the cold, Provo river, having the time of our lives and really getting to know each other, to me watching him out on the football field, being ignored after, and crying myself to sleep. I consider myself a very patient person, but enough was enough, I was done and let him be. No more being upset over someone who obviously wasn’t worth the time. The distance between us did more for us than we could have imagined. We both had changed, were growing up, and by the end of senior year, I let him in and we spent our Senior Prom together, what a perfect night it was. We graduated and started on a path no one could have ever seen coming, knowing who we once were. I fell in love with the man of my dreams, and he too, fell in love with me. This was a perfect fairytale that I was more than proud to call my own. 
July 15th seemed to be a normally long, hot summer day in the office, but thoughts of fear and anticipation ran through my head at a constant rate. After much waiting, Cameron was called to the McAllen, Texas mission, departing on November 10th, which at the time seemed like centuries away, though this was not the case. The months we had together flew by right before our eyes, yet not a moment was wasted. I went on remarkable adventures with my best friend. He made every day perfect, and we never forgot to say, “I love you.”  The day arrived and though we enjoyed a wonderful, last day and had smiles on our faces, you could feel the sorrow leaking out from our aching hearts. As I said, “See you later” to the love of my life, I made a promise to wait faithfully for him for two years, a promise I know within my heart I never will break.
I often become discouraged with the way some individuals portray the word, “waiting,” referring to a missionary girlfriend like myself. Some make it seem like I am putting my life on hold for the next two years, not allowing myself to live and simply be me, which is absolutely not true. I have a life and it is the best I’ve lived, and even though my other half is not by my side physically, he still is with me. I am not saddened by his absence, although sometimes I wish I could just look into his soft, hazel eyes and touch his large, but gentle hands, he is a part of me that will never fade.  I wouldn’t title myself as waiting, because of what that word applies, it doesn’t apply to me. It is simply but a moment of distance between us physically, not emotionally or spiritually. I am still living my fairytale.
The distance between us and the change of the word doesn’t frighten me, it is the “waiting” I am doing that does.  I find fear in my great aunt Luana’s story. She waited, waited for her life to begin and take course on its own, but tragedy put a stop to her life before she could see the effects of her waiting. I am a woman who waits. I may not wait for love, because it is always occurring, one way or another, it is a never ending circle, but I too wait for my life to set off on a journey I know not of. Thinking of Luana throws questions in my mind such as, “What am I really waiting for?” and “If my life was to dramatically end at this moment, would I have lived to my fullest potential and done all that I could?”  These questions now haunt my every step.  I no longer want to be the woman who waits, but the woman who takes the reins of her own life and guides them wherever her desires and passions lead her. I have control of my life and what I make of it will not be because I waited, but because I took the incentive to act on my goals and dreams, and make my life the fairytale it was meant to be.


Jamie said...

FORGET Architecture...you were meant to be a writer!!! Wow Sky...that was AMAZING!!! Love you!

beka said...

Sky this is beautiful and thoughtful! as a girl who has waited and who is still waiting (although not necessarily in the same situation as you) i think you have great insights! don't ever let people tell you that you are crazy for waiting. i can tell that you are doing great things with your life and i am excited to see where the next two years of waiting take you! (if that makes sense) you are amazing!