The Story of a Girl with Too-Big Eyes, Too-Small Hands and Euphoric Chicago Dreams
The girl who pries open ribcages to mold mankind takes my hand. She smiles. She’s leaving for Germany soon and we both know that our hourglass’ sand granules are slipping away. Our hands feel like clasped promises and we let our vulnerabilities melt into the scenery; we are in a new city with fresh beginnings drawn on our palms, and we are here to widen our perspectives...
This past summer I flew with my family to Las Vegas, where we stayed for a few days after driving up and down California. The timing of our trip landed us in Nevada right in the middle of the massive heat wave that was making national news, with temperatures above 110 degrees Fahrenheit during the day and staying above 100 degrees even at night. After living in the tropical climate of the Philippines for 10 years, the combination of extreme heat and aridity alone could have ruined the vacation. Despite the horrendous weather, I unexpectedly found an environment where, for the first time in a while, I was perfectly content...
I hit the ball to the corner of the court. My opponent, scrambling and sliding, barely gets his racquet to it. The ball floats over the net in a high, looping arc. I sprint forward, ready to finish the point with a killer smash. Snap! The ball hits the frame of my racquet and flies out. Point lost. I cannot believe it, it's really lost. How? Why?..
My path to this point in life has not been one that you could guess from a seemingly ordinary (maybe below ordinary height, depends who you ask) from a very affluent, diverse, and academic community like Princeton, New Jersey. I have toed a thin line between Shakespearean tragedy and raunchy, Will Ferrell comedy- closest to “Talladega Nights” if you ask me...
He had hit me. He had pulled my hair, held me down as I screamed, ignored my pleas for help. And as I looked back at the place I once called home, I knew. I knew that I was forever changed. My tears were acid, burning scars into my heart. Hiccups burst from me uncontrollably as I tried to come to terms with the darkness that now surrounded me. I couldn’t imagine ever seeing light again...
I was a Mulan girl. Back when I was a little girl, Mulan was one of an array of Disney princesses adored by little girls everywhere. Among the more popular choices were the traditional, delicate, and iconic ones. There were also the more unconventional princesses—those who gave off an air of rebellion, yet were still, in their own ways, glamorous and admirable. But I felt the most connected with Mulan, the only Disney princess who was a princess in name only, not born or married into royalty...
While the battle for the remote is an epic one in our home, one night each year, there is no debate. For my sister, it has always meant storming out of the room, ears steaming. But I would sit right in front of the television, eyes glued to the screen. The State of the Union Address would become the center of my world, accompanied by my parents’ running commentary. At only five, I was hooked...
In fourth grade, I found myself in trouble for the first time, “benched” for petitioning “More trees, less Bush” during recess. Molded by my family’s political advocacy, it was no surprise that I was so captivated by the world of government. My passion for politics quickly turned into all out zeal, and by Election Night, 2008, my mind was made up; I needed to be a politician, and I needed to go to Georgetown University...
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