Fruits of Metmorphosis
Essay Preview: Fruits of Metmorphosis
Report this essay
Fruits of Metamorphosis
My head rested against the rickety window as the planes landing abruptly awakened me into San Francisco airport. The chilly December fog billowed in my little face and sent down my spine an electric shock of fear and suspense. I left behind my El Salvadorian heritage and culture, extended family, close friends, and my first language. As I toddled through the airport, all my senses flooded with bright lights, clean alleys, kind people, a diverse new culture, and a mysterious language. Thirteen years later I look back at the abundant blessings and priceless gifts I received from the United States of America, and I am most grateful and enamored with education. Paradoxically, when I landed in this auspicious land, I realized that my most challenging burden was going to be communication.
Although I landed in the United States of America at the ripe young age of ten, now I realize that my elementary learning stages were the most excruciating steps I ever took. Education was not only a matter of earning good or bad grades. School education forms valuable social leaders, who can actively use communication and knowledge to grow and share in virtue. History class is not just about knowing names and dates, but about appreciating and improving the land you live on. Science is not just about dissecting frogs and squids, but about taking care and sharing our environment. Literature class is not just about essays and books, but about expanding your mind to all horizons. I believe that education gives a person communication and a meaningful social life. Information empowers you with confidence and flexibility to connect with a broad audience. Consequently, interacting, self-expressing and comprehending others became a big hurdle me.
“Hi, my name is Diego Avelar, very nice to meet you!” These were the only words I could express on the first day I arrived into the United States. In El Salvador I studied from preschool to third grade with the Spanish language. Then I was immersed in a regular fourth grade class in English, and my confusion and difficulties began. As most people get older their ability to learn gradually lessens. New piano songs, new sports, new friends and new languages become almost elusive. In child psychology, the capacity to learn can be related with the age group. A 3 years old child can absorb 50 to 70 new words a day. Every year the child gets older, he enters a new learning stage until their brain fully matures in their early twenties. I recall when I first arrived to the U.S., I was so accustomed to writing and reading in Spanish that it constantly gave me the blues to hear and speak in poor English. My sister, who is a couple years younger, seemed to improve at much greater strides than me. She was placed in a regular third grade class and she excelled. On the other hand, I had a very hard time thriving at the beginning.
As I became more frustrated, the teachers of Vichy Elementary School decided to place me in re-enforcement classes. This served as a great disadvantage to my self-esteem and joy of my youth. I would be deprived from recreation, sports, birthday parties, and special event, because regular school just wasnt enough. I would confuse vocabulary and phonetics, miss homework, and anger other students through miscommunication. I didnt listen to directions constantly and then began to break many school rules. My lunch time would be taken away and replaced by detention. A deep bitterness and misunderstanding grew in my heart.
Was I really a bad kid? I remember one hot spring day bursting out in tears in the middle of a lecture. I was in the back of the classroom, as I got out of my chair and my teacher followed me outside a little courtyard. “I cant take this. I feel like I am being punished all the time,” I yelped. She must have given me some small words of comfort, but the only thing I could think and feel was exhaustion and profound self-hate. As I grew older, I understood how these events wounded my personality and social life. A life which I had once tasted in my youth had now disappeared.
It took many dedicated and encouraging people to pull me out of my abysmal pain. My parents were the first always motivational speakers. Not only did my dad help me do my homework until eighth grade, but he continually taught me study ethics. He always sang, “Read, read, read!” One day he gave me a book that aided me to radically change my confused and disordered lifestyle. The book was “First Thing First” by Stephen Covey. This book has helped many individuals meet their personal, financial, spiritual, and/or family goals, including my dad. Before he earned his doctorate from UCSF, he went through many difficult years in school. “First Thing First” bolstered his confidence and study habits, the same way it does for me today.
My mother has harvested several virtues in my soul, which I would not trade for any talent. I reminisce how she reached out her hand whenever I was frustrated with school and friendships. She wanted to debunk all the derogatory remarks I received for being different, and she wanted to implant a seed in my soul that would help me vanquish my fears. This seed is pure love, the virtue that is patient, kind, self-giving. She wished for me to find this love within myself, so she did everything in her power to raise me in love.
It begins with my moms daily example and benevolence. In the family we often joke that being a mother is a multi-professional vocation. Mothers work like chefs, taxi drivers, tutors, and counselors. Most predominantly, good mothers give life, protection, nurturing. My mother not only gave birth to me in this world, but she has always pointed towards my future birth in heaven. She was adamant about giving me a rock solid and friendly Christian formation. She would drop me off at Opus Dei recollections, take me to Kumon Math and Reading Centers, and get me involved in the Church sacraments, in order that I may interact and grow within a positive and loving culture. At times I also felt robbed of my youth, whenever she pulled me out of environments that were hazardous to my spiritual health. I remember one time I was not allowed to attend a sleepover party because there was not going to be any adults present. Finally, I thank my mom for nurturing me morally, intellectually and physically. She has persistently devoted her life to inflame me with Christian love, humble knowledge and a strong health. Through the prayers and guidance of my mother, she transformed a wretched and lost soul. My mother loved to borrow words from the contemporary saint, San Josemaria Escriva. She would frequently repeat, “Do everything for Love. Thus there will be no little things: everything will be big. Perseverance in little things for Love is heroism.”