I spent this past Labour Day weekend at my other home, in Arkansas. I don't know which home is home anymore...SMU or Bentonville? For the first time, school
is home. It's a trivial thing.
Anyway.
Life caught up to me here at SMU. In just two weeks, everything I'd worked to build up was broken down and dissected again. You THINK you know yourself, then
BAM. Life happens. And you walk away remarkably confused.
I retreated.
That isn't to say I ran away; rather, I left the campus to relax and relearn myself. Reestablish. Rejuvenate. Revive. Resettle. I knew I needed to get away...I just didn't know where to go.
So I went home, back to the only people whose opinions ever meant anything to me; I went home to my parents.
Now, I'm not a fiercely dependent person. I try to be as independent as possible, while still maintaining close mutual ties to the people I love and care about. But for the most part, I can take care of myself. If I need help, I'll ask. If I want an opinion, I'll ask. If I need a favour, I'll ask. But if I don't ask...then I'm doing just fine. I don't usually let myself drown before reaching out.
This weekend, I needed help swimming.
SMU got to me. It got under my clothes, under my skin, into all of my cells. It ate me from the inside out. It was vicious, fast-acting, and intense.
For someone who doesn't go to SMU, let me explain the culture here...or at least, the culture as I've come to understand it:
The girls, as well as the boys, look as though they've been cut out of catalogues. No exaggeration. They are all physically beautiful by design, and they dress to enhance the flawless skin and figures they already have. There is no middle ground. You are either the In or the Out in terms of appearance. And I am, naturally, the Out.
I am not (and have never been) pale, blond, blue-eyed, or perfectly complected. I do not wear designer shoes that cost hundreds, nor do I own a designer handbag (or a purse at all), nor do I wear jewelry from the finest jewelers in the state, nor do I hail from a private school, nor do I drive a luxury vehicle...as do at least 75% of the students here.
That just isn't me. And it never has been. And I never really cared.
But all of a sudden, after two weeks of poorly-concealed cruel remarks made behind my back by the guys, after two weeks of getting the casual once-over and sneer by the girls, after two weeks of feeling put under a microscope...I cared. And I wanted so desperately for that type of Barbie Girl to be me.
The dormant elitist in me came out, and with a vengeance. If there's one thing I hate about myself, it's my desire to be better than everyone, in whatever game/sport/activity we're competing. I get a kick out of destroying someone in competition. However, when it comes to looks and status, I rarely (ahem,
never) win the field. And that's the only kind of game people play here. Looks and status.
Thankfully, I felt my vain inner self coming on and had time to prepare; at my parents' suggestion, I went to Arkansas for the extended weekend.
I am reminded again why my parents are my heroes.
Because I don't have to be someone I'm not when I'm around them.
Because I don't have to be on my guard around them.
Because I don't have to flaunt my things or my friends to them.
Because I don't have to justify or affirm my value to them.
Because I'M ALLOWED TO BE ME. Endlessly
ME.
My parents love me, and are there for me whenever I need them, for anything. Parents can give a lot to their kids: money, clothes, food, as well as the intangible things, which are worth so much more than those things that can be boxed or contained. Parents should be sources of confidence, reassurance, joy, knowledge, wisdom, patience, empathy, and above all, unconditional love.
My parents are the wellspring of my identity.
I needed that break so badly. I needed to be away from these parasitic people who judge you head-to-toe by what you wear and own. I never really realised what a blessing it was to know who I was and to know that I was safe in the company I kept. If you've got those friends who love you and accept you for who you are...KEEP THEM CLOSE. Because the second you're away and alone, and nobody knows you're name, you're a fresh specimen ripe for judgment and speculation.
They're all so insecure. The richest, prettiest girls are the most insecure. It's the same for the boys. I've never seen so many gorgeous, insecure boys.
The really funny paradox is that the least insecure people seem to be the ones who are rejected. The people I hang out with, if you will. We're the outsiders, but at least we never feel like we're competing with each other. I don't have to wear skirts and heels to impress my guyfriends, and I don't have to wear the latest and greatest to impress my girlfriends.
I decided a lot of things while home. I decided I'm
not sorry my parents aren't millionaires. I'm
not sorry I'm brown in just about every respect. I'm
not sorry I don't waste my money on clothing when there are starving children in Africa and kids in Asia dying from diseases you've gotten cheap vaccines for.
I'm not sorry for having real priorities. And I'm not apologising to anybody for the way I look at myself and the world.
This place has a way of making you feel small. Insignificant. Unimportant. Because no matter what you're made of, there is someone with your best qualities...
amplified.
This place almost did it to me. I almost felt like nobody. I almost felt alone. I almost tried to be better, richer, smarter, prettier than I really am. I almost tried to fit in with people who aren't worth fitting in with.
I almost betrayed myself. My opinions, my values, my morality, my worldview, my faith, my heritage, my upbringing, my family, my friends, my core. It was the scariest, heaviest feeling I've experienced since...well, in a long time.
Nobody deserves to feel inadequate. Nobody deserves to be snickered about. Nobody deserves to feel cheap. NOBODY. That is what I believe.
Mothers and fathers can teach you very valuable life lessons. From my parents, I learned to always be true to myself, and to my heart, and to what I believe is right. I was given a strong conscience, a clear perspective on what is (un)important, and a focused idea of what beauty is.
It's hard to love the people who don't love you back, but someone has to do it, and it might as well be me, while I'm on this love rampage. It's difficult, to find the value in someone else when they refuse to acknowledge even the POTENTIAL for value in you. But I think ultimately, it's worth trying. Love for humanity is worth dying for.
My thoughts on this are scattered at best, but I have a lot on my mind. It's a liberating, yet overwhelming thing, to know one's self. I cannot be taken away from, only added to. I just hope that whatever is added makes for my greater good.
I am captivated by my potential, and the potential of others.
It's surprising how many persons go through life without ever recognizing that their feelings toward other people are largely determined by their feelings toward themselves, and if you're not comfortable with yourself, you can't be comfortable with others. -Sydney J. Harris
