Dear Memorial,
I leave you with this- my senior speech:
In my car, I have a towel, a few broken CDs, a neon ski jacket, some seashells, too many discarded Starbucks cups, and two or three plates and spoons. To say the least, I am a messy person. While I admit that this is true, I must also elaborate on another side of me entirely- a side obsessed with organizing, categorizing and labeling. I don't mean literally;
I don't have a label gun stashed away or anything, it's more like categorizing or labeling big things, like groups of people or individuals... mostly, trying to categorize myself. We all deal with this in high school, the "who am I"s and all that. The funny thing is, while we all (eventually) find that no one fits into one category and that we are all unique and special, etc., etc., I figured out something even more ridiculous and peculiar. I, in fact, found that I was a walking paradox- full of absurd contradictions and constantly fitting into opposing categories all at once. Maybe, in reality, I'm just a bad categorizer. Or, just maybe, I had found my first example of the many to come reflecting my paradoxical nature- a messy person with organization OCD.
Although I play it off like it's something I laugh about, I'll be the first to tell you that it was definitely something I struggled with on my identity quest. I spent the beginning of high school trying, like a typical freshman, to build up this image of myself that I so desperately wanted, and that I had decided would bring me happiness for the rest of my years here. I know you all know what image I was going for- the artsy, mysterious, doesn't need to try to succeed girl with a killer music taste and edgy clothes. While I cringe at all of that now (what's a killer music taste, anyway?), it really was what I wanted and strove for. You can imagine the horror and confusion I felt when I found myself wanting to belt out "I wake up in the morning feeling like P Diddy" or feeling the need to tap my foot along with the beat of Katy Perry's "I Kissed a Girl." Being an extremely dramatic person, every time one of these things would happen, I feared that I had multiple personality disorder and would immediately change the song to something I thought was cool. Eventually, I admitted defeat and accepted the fact that I loved the tacky and the ridiculous almost as much as what, in my opinion, is beautiful, meaningful art and entertainment.
As usually happens with an epiphany, I found that this contrast applies to my life in more serious ways than just what I have on my iPod or DVR. There is contrast (but not conflict) within my own home, between the two people who raised me- my parents. Take my father, a man from small town called Bryan, Ohio, who married my mother, a middle-Eastern woman from Damascus, Syria. This union landed me with a label I've had since birth, and a label that most people find peculiar: Arab-American. We live in a world where it is acceptable for Americans to play internet games dedicated to "shooting the Muslim" and where Arabs refer to George Bush as an idiot with ears too big for his small brain. Culturally, I witness two very different views as well. For example, here, I go to the pool where I and all my friends wear bikinis; there, it is indecent for me to wear shorts too high above my knee. As a child, this confused me, and there was so much that frustrated me because I didn't understand. But, as a young adult, I feel I, personally, could not have been blessed with a better ethnic identity. I now enter the real world with a deeper understanding of cultural differences, compromising, and respect for others than many will ever have in their lifetime.
Time and time again, I found contrast and paradox. My friends! My choices! My meals! Who else goes through the drive-thru for french fries on the way to the gym? I found people constantly in shock at my decisions and preferences, always saying, "I never expected you to... when I thought you..." Always with a confused look. And, never did I hear this more than regarding the people who I love and spend time with. It's natural for people to assume that you are close with those that are like you. Some, like I did, even assume you should automatically dislike a certain category of people because there's just no way it would work between your stereotype and theirs. For years, I thought this was the case, with one person in particular, and it was this person that I thought of when I realized that my life as a paradox bled into my social interactions. Many of you know her- she is blonde and fabulous, successful and wise; her name is Molly McConn. For years, I hated Molly (to be fair, she wasn't too fond of me either) until, God forbid, we had a conversation. We are now best friends, and, in the end, found that we were similar, despite how much we seem to contrast on the outside. From Molly and all of my best friends who are so different than her and so different than me, I have learned more than I ever will with a closed mind and an arrogant attitude.
Perhaps this is something we all face- the things we do and feel that we don't understand about and didn't expect from ourselves. Yes, I admit that being a walking paradox is hard. Often, I end up confused, flustered and, at times, feel like a hypocrite. But, in the end, I wouldn't change it for anything. Every time I embrace something I never thought I would like or feel, I become a little more humble and a little more at peace with myself.
Sincerely,
Lana
