I choose to have faith in the phrase, “everything happens for a reason” because if it’s true then every tribulation I’ve been through will have been worth it. In my sixteen years on earth I’ve moved eight times, lived in eleven different houses, been to ten different schools, and traveled an exuberant amount of times. It’s been a long road, literally and metaphorically, but I am truly grateful for my life.
I’ve come to appreciate the constant relocation and repetitive introductory speeches because it’s made me who I am today. I am an independent and opinionated individual with endless ambition but, I wasn’t always so sure of who I was as a person.
In grades fourth through seventh I followed the crowd and let other’s opinions squeeze me into a box of social norms and standards. I was a robot middle schooler that shape shifted into what everyone wanted me to be. Molded by the hands of society was a watered down and border line non-existent personality. I was a blank piece of paper that had been crumpled up and drawn on by the people around me, instead of being my own creation. It was like a masterpiece produced by a group of artists with my name plastered all over it: an illusion of who I actually was.
The summer after sixth grade I wanted to get a haircut, just a trim of course, so I went to the little salon in the small town of Chapman, Kansas. I got my haircut and left. After a couple of weeks I had seen some pictures of a cute little shoulder length bob that I thought would suit me. It was nothing dramatic, a simple hair cut. So, I got it. I was in love. It was a great feeling changing up my look.
Summer was about to end and I decided to do something adventurous. I went back to the salon, again, and I came out with a pixie cut. My hair was a stylish take on a classic men’s haircut. It was messy, layered, and I loved it. I looked like no one else and it was awesome. My mom loved it, my dad loved it, my siblings didn’t really care and most importantly I felt confident.
That day we had a barbecue to go to at a family friend’s house. We pulled up into their driveway and I stuck my head out the window to show everyone my new haircut. The adults all yelled out “Oh my goodness! It looks great!” or “You look so spunky! It definitely matches your personality.” I was filled with joy as my self esteem rose with the approval of others. I finally walked into their house to flaunt my new cut to my friends. I stood there and smiled while I posed and spun around waiting for there reactions. “You look like a boy.” My face just flushed. I stood there as if someone had just slapped me in the face. They all stared at me like there was a dog standing on it’s hind legs speaking nonsense to them. I was crushed absolutely destroyed. I held back tears and just tried to be quiet for the duration of the day.
Summer had come to an end and I was excited to debut my hair to the school. I had a new outfit I just bought and some gorgeous suede fringe boots. I looked and felt great. Walking into school, I was nervous and it didn’t get any better from there. Everyone thought I looked like a boy. The only people that had said something kind were the girls I sit at lunch with. They all asked me why I did it as if I just told them I sold all my belongings or burnt down my house. Their tone of voice sounded like they expected me to respond with an intense story about how I was held at gun point and told to cut all my hair off. I felt terrible. Even the boy I had a crush on had sent his friend over to me in band class to tell me he didn’t like me any more.
I returned home to sulk in my bedroom and hide my face. I cried until I fell asleep. I was devastated. My haircut seemed like such a vain thing to be upset over but it was hard realizing that I had made a huge mistake cutting my hair. I felt like disgusting and I had decided that I was never returning to school. I would wear a hat and move back to Europe and just hide. That entire night I even looked online for hair extensions and planned out my savings plan so I could buy some.
I don’t remember the exact words but I recall my mom telling me about how different I was when I was younger I could never walk in a straight line and I danced and jumped, hopped and skipped wherever I went. I dressed like I was ready to perform a circus act and it always made me stand out. I was constantly different and, weird and, spunky. I had finally realized that I wasn’t made to be an exact replica of what the crowd was. I was born different and I was determined to embrace that.
I believe that everything happens for a reason and I am glad that all the kids at school made fun of me. I am thankful that they called me a boy and I am content with the fact that everyone thought I was weird.
I don’t care what people think of me now and I don’t have to be scared to do anything anymore. I especially don’t depend on how people are going to respond to anything I do. I do what I like and I don’t mind if anyone disagrees, it’s a difference of opinion and I think thats cool that not everyone thinks the same. Our world is a collage of mixes of races, ages, personalities, occupations, and ethnicities. We are made to be different and to live a life that we are happy with. I love who I am today and no one can tell me otherwise.
