In literacy class this year, we are focusing on English grammar and vocabulary. This is meant to improve our English and also getting ready for the SAT test. As part of literacy class, we learned about coming of age and write one about ourselves. Coming of age is an experience from one’s childhood that means a lot to them or changes them and them who they are. Below is my final draft of my coming of age. It is about speaking up to my family for my own thoughts.
Below is my short story.
In my whole life, nothing embraced me as much as this phrase, “Despite of growing from a filthy pond bottom, lotuses are beautiful and are well respected; you should become one.” Diving through my life, I am engulfed with euphoria to find myself becoming what was expected out of me. But, simultaneously, reckoning that I went too far; going out of the elder’s vision. The elders taught me things that I learned to appreciate. And though many people said “The elders are always right,” I am never convinced that this phrase is true. Ever since I was little, I always tried to follow the family rules as much as possible, which gave me a little privilege. But the longer I lived my life in the constraint of the rules, the more I saw things that the elders do that I’m oppose to. But, I wasn’t brave enough to speak up. Over time of being quiet, I was convinced to speak up to my family after seeing more things happening in my family that really irk me. Even though my family appose to my ideas, and though it hurts a lot, I had broken myself free from the chains of rules and live my own life. It made me who I am today.
At an age of eight, I started finding my wisdom, and I am proud of that. In Buddhism, number eight represents lotuses due to its association with the eight lotus petals. My finding of wisdom started way back; it started before my family moved. Back then, most of my relatives lived no more than 10 meters away from one another. Our houses were so close, seeming like we had our community of families. My cousins were in highschool and were trying to make some money by sewing apparels for a garment company. Since they chose to sew at home, there were tons of scrap fabrics that were in all shapes, textures, and designs. Each day, Granny, my dad’s mother, would collect the little scraps and store them in a sack. Seeing no value those scraps, I always told her to throw them away, but she wouldn’t. Days after days, Granny kept collecting the scraps until she had sacks of them; they no longer fit in the store-room. Therewith, I was convinced she would give up collecting those scraps, but I was mistaken.
Soon, Granny said, she would to have to teach all her granddaughters to sew before her eyes got too bad for sewing. She asked me, my older sister, and my female cousin who is three years older than me to learn. No one was interested in learning. The two others rejected in no time. Then, I was in a situation where I was the only one left to make the decision. I didn’t had the enthusiasm in learning to sew, but I couldn’t let Granny down. I ended up being the only one learning, because Granny did not like forcing people. At that time, I thought my sister and cousin had been freed from one of the family’s rules of being a proper lady. Later, I realize they would have to learn it at an older age. I had just chosen to learn to sew a younger age. From then, every time I got out of school, I had to go and sew with Granny.
Granny gave me the fabric from her scraps collection, so I could practice my sewing skills. After days of sewing, I started to appreciate my sewing work. I started liking to sew little by a little until it became what I love doing.
Once I had enough practice, Granny told me to hand patch the scraps. The parchment turned out to be so beautiful; I got obsessed with sewing. I sometimes sew until Granny told me to stop or to go to sleep. At that point, I realized, perfection is when little pieces of imperfections accumulate. The patchwork of the imperfect scrap gave me one of the lessons of my life.
Then, Granny told me, I had enough practice and I could sew using a machine. Using my cousin’s sewing machine, I made a big piece scraps parchment. And the piece of parchment was used to make shade for a hangout area. Not long after, I was also taught to cook, and how to care for myself.
Now, my petals slowly open, ready to see the world in new way. Opening to the light of the morning after the long, long night of closing.
Once my petals were opened, I felt as though the elders were already trying to turn me into a proper lady. I felt like the elders were teaching me to be a housewife. The thought got me thinking, “Why didn’t Granny teach those things to my male cousins?” Perhaps, it is because I have a boy-like behavior.
The elders believed that my Grandpa, Granny’s partner reincarnated as me, because he died a few months before I was born. They were more convinced that I have a boy’s soul when seeing me climbing trees and chasing off the girls with things they’re afraid of.
No matter what, I was positive that, that could not be the only reason. Perhaps my family have the old mindset, and only taught me what’s considered as a “woman’s roll”. I didn’t speak up for what I saw and how I felt. I was afraid of how the elder would react to my move. I was afraid they would hate me. But I know, I am not going to be quiet forever. I was sure some days, I will speak up to my family, and nothing would stop me, but maybe except for if I don’t live near them.
A few years later, my family moved into a new village. I thought my plan of out-speaking was destroyed here, but this though had completely vanished after I got to the new location. It is only about one kilometer away from where we used to live. Staying there, I had a totally different life. But one thing still had not changed; family. My house is right behind my Grandma’s, my mom’s mother’s house.
After moving, Mom and Dad got busier, they sometimes don’t even have the time to cook for me. Sometimes, I can’t wait until mom comes home and cook my meal, I started cooking even though I was still inept. I would ask Grandma how to cook certain food when I don’t know how. After months of living in a new place, I recognize that the elder doused me with love. I was given more privilege. I was also given books that were just my taste of genre. It was like I had gotten into a new chapter of my life. I became their lotus, but little did I know that nothing lasts forever.
It took me a long time to feel like a lotus, but took no time to feel that I was no longer
retaining my quality of being a lotus. It all happen in an instant, like a blink of an eye.
One day, Grandma canceled my uncle’s marriage, because the shaman told her that one of the couple would die if marriage happens.
My reaction to that was, “How could someone end a marriage in seconds?”
Now, I was convinced to speak up. I walked up to Grandma and convince her to give up some of her beliefs, and let the marriage happens. No matter how hard I tried, she did not change her mind. At last I said, “How do you think your son feels?” That put Grandma in silence for a few seconds. I thought my words got her, I was wrong. With no hesitation, she said, “He would be fine,” then go on talking, “You’re not supposed to get the family’s business. It is really rude and you’re too young to do so.” Her words leave me speechless. I finally walked away with a stone in my throat. I felt as though I had failed to sustain being a lotus. I locked myself in a quiet place and tortured my own feeling.
I thought I was not wise enough.
I thought I went too far.
I was a lotus, and perhaps I wasn’t anymore. The more thoughts pop on my mind, the harder it became for me to stop my tears from rolling. I didn’t want to cry, I want to be a strong girl, but I could not help it. My tears just kept rolling down like a pouring rain. But at least the tears reminded me that I am imperfect. I can’t be the perfect girl that the elders expect me to be. I am not meant not be programmed. I am not meant to be born perfect. I am imperfectly perfect. I then wiped my tears and took an old sarong and sew into a sleeve and stop myself from crying. Later that day, I got blamed for cutting up the sarong, but I didn’t care anymore.
I had already shown to one of the elders that I have my own beliefs.
I had shown that I’m brave to advocate for myself. I am my own lotus.
I am who I am, I am not a replicate of them.
The question now is, “To the elders, am I a lotus?” I have no ideas. All I know is that I might turn to be a lotus that had lost its sense of time. A lotus that doesn’t close its petal at night. A lotus that will always look into the world. Obeying the rules of family had always been what I had committed to do all the time, but I had learned to out-speak for myself and my beliefs.