I’m very used to being called hurtful names.
Those names are painful reminders of the most volatile and vulnerable parts of my existence. The haunting side of my actions brought fourth in tiny bits of childhood trauma.
I am in essence a ticking time bomb of experiences.
This picture used to mean everything to me, well it meant a lot. That was my dream school and those were my dirty red chucks. UC Irvine had so much of my heart, that I was forcing myself to do math so I could pass the classes I needed to get in. (I hate math) That was my dream, my ticket out of my house, an anteater full of success. I was young and hopeful about the prospect of being an anteater given the proper fight for it. Unfortunately, motivation also plays a big roll in success.
In a sea of doubt I lost my morale. That’s my fault.
In a negative environment the first thing that is usually dashed in a person is morale, but I should have squashed that feeling with disappointment.
Confused? Let me explain.
That thing in my hand is a notebook, a sketchbook to be more accurate. I was once an artist who spent hours sketching my inner thoughts. I loved art so much I took to expressing myself in digital arts as well.
Not my best work, but it was what I could find. This was my outlet and defense against a chaotic home life. My art was everything until I was called a name.
Encouraged to make art for a profit, I began to hate everything about it. I resented being told I wasn’t getting anything out of it unless I used it to turn a profit. I lost my interest and eventually stopped all together.
That too was very painful.
When I got older I realized something, the loss I suffered both times was at the hands of my weird need to impress people or live up to these weird standards set by others. I lost my chance at Irvine when it became about proving something.
I know what it means to be disappointed in little things as well as big. I should have realized that the people doing the name calling were both nasty trolls as well as hurt people themselves. I owed them nothing. Irvine should have been for me. My art should have been for me.
My life is a gift that I want to live in peace not pieces selected by others.
I urge you to really examine the pain in your past failures and see if you let yourself fall victim to others expectations or if your past motives were poor. If so, let it go and create new ventures for success.
So what’s the silver lining in all this? I never got poor grades in transfer level classes. That’s right ya’ll my transfer GPA is actually still good so with some hardwork UCI could be obtained, but those days are behind me. My life has a new direction where success is defined as so:
I hope I am fortunate enough to travel, write, and volunteer for the rest of my time on this big rock called home. I’m grateful for my failures like I am my vitctories.
The cry of the Anteater will always be a bitter sweet reminder that failure is out there, but a great reminder that success isn’t far behind.
I’ve been called a lot of things growing up, but my favorite has always been Lark.