Learning from the Past: A Guide to the Future (My Personal Narrative Assignment) (12)

This last week and a bit we have been preparing a personal narrative as an assignment in my writing class and the final portion is to post it online. I feel a bit awkward about publishing my personal work I guess college is about getting out of your comfort zone. So here we go:

I’m in our silver Mercedes Benz, driving towards Dublin Airport. It’s a two-hour drive, so getting emotional really isn’t an option right now. You can’t cry for two hours – that would just be melodramatic. But that begs the question: at what stage is it okay to cry? I’m surprisingly in control of my emotions, which is a huge step up from where I was just a few years ago.

            When I was fourteen years old I attended my first youth conference. On the last day we had a testimony meeting. I was too shy to go up there to share how I felt about my beliefs because I was one of the youngest there, but I loved listening to the older boys and girls tell me how they felt about Jesus Christ. As I was listening, I found myself marveling at their surety. Why did they know so firmly what I didn’t? Their conviction filled me with admiration and made me emotional. It was the first time that I can remember crying because of the atmosphere and feelings I had. I felt my heart swelling and my eyes burn as my tears built up until they slowly dripped down my face, being too much for my eyes to hold. I would recognize that sensation in countless times to come. This was the moment when my emotions started to be hard to control.

            I can feel that sensation coming again as I look out at the green fields flying by at 70 miles per hour – and I’m smiling. Not because I am glad to have my eyes burn and my stomach clench, but because I am controlling it. No tears are breaking that barrier today. They can swim around up there all they want, but as long as I keep them off my cheeks I’ve defeated my emotions, I’ve won.

There was a time when I lost to my tears though – one of the many times, actually. At the time I didn’t know I needed to fight them. I didn’t know I was a crier, so it just happened. I was performing with my sister in the final night of our school’s Les Misérables production. All of the cast members were on stage, sweating slightly under the heat of the stage lights and layers of makeup. My parents were in the audience, my teachers too. I knew this final song would be incredible. “Do you hear the people sing?” we chanted. It was the finale, the final curtain. My favorite line was coming up so I looked across at my younger sister and she looked at me, and together with the firm beat of the timpani, we sang at the top of our lungs, “When the beating of your heart echoes the beating of the drums, there is a life about to start when tomorrow comes!” The tears broke through and I was crying again, barely able to choke out the repeat: “Tomorrow comes.” I had such a feeling of power, pleasure, and achievement that I just had to cry. I clearly can’t express any great emotion in a way other than crying!

            Except for today, where I am holding it in. I’m winning, and though my tears are fighting to leak out and stain my face with mascara, I am fighting back equally hard. “Dad,” I say, “how long until we get to the airport?” I decide that asking a question is a good way to get out of my thoughts, but I can hear the strain in my voice. And now that I think about it, I can feel the strain in my voice. My throat is sore from holding in the tears and emotion. I can hear the strain in Dad’s voice too as he replies. It’s only now I realize how quiet the car is. No one is talking, apart from every now and then when my mom tries to break it up with a bit of small talk as she remarks at how lovely the countryside is, or how blessed we are to be on the roads when there is little traffic. No one responds to my sweet mother’s valiant efforts to make the journey somewhat enjoyable – we are all lost in our own thoughts.

            Crying is the same response for me, whether the stimulus is good or bad. I cry when I’m happy but I also cry when I’m sad. About two months before our family got into the car to begin the trip down to Dublin airport, I cried nearly every night. I knew a change was coming and I was terrified. Fear made me cry, my tears won. I was sad that everything I knew would change, that I’d be alone, that my sister would grow up and I wouldn’t see her change in person or share in the experiences. That sadness made me cry too, I lost again. I was crushed by the thought that my relationship and friendships would undoubtedly be altered by the change. That hurt made me cry too. I lost again. I was forever losing to my tears. I didn’t know what I was losing but I could feel I was losing it. Maybe it was my grip on what really mattered.

            I’m considering all of theses events as the countryside flashes by in blurs of green, blue, and white. Okay now I’m being melodramatic, because I can’t help but think how appropriate it is that the countryside is flashing before my eyes just like my life has been doing for the past hour and a half. I’m such a girl sometimes. On the bright side, I’m a winner today.

            I plan on being a winner from now on. Of course I don’t mind crying while Rose says goodbye to Jack as the Titanic sinks behind them, but crying for myself is a no go, because then I’m letting my tears win.

            We walk into the airport and I check in my luggage. Mom is coming with me on the airplane. She knows how to be supportive. She has been a constant force for good throughout my entire life, my biggest supporter, most sincere compliment giver, and best friend. Today is the day I leave behind my family and move to America so that I can go to university. I know I’ve chosen this, but it’s not really what I want in those final moments when I’m hugging my dad and sister goodbye. Mom stands quietly at the doors leading to security, while I say farewell. I have to speak because dad is so choked up he can barely swallow. It’s hard to see the strong man (who gave my sister and me our red hair) crying. My little sister is crying openly and she is making it very difficult to keep my tears in check. For all the times we argued, we had a million more amazing moments. I can’t believe I’m saying goodbye! It’s not real! As I hug her goodbye my tears push at the frontier so one or two drip sadly onto my cheeks and down her back. But I’m still holding it together. I’m so proud that I’m winning this battle. I’m holding my emotions in. I walk towards security with a firm stride and a trembling chin. I look back and wave, smiling at them.

            In that moment, all I want to do is stand there, looking at them forever. It is very hard to win that battle while staring at the faces of your family, disfigured by sadness. Little Jess, as we call her, is really having a rough time. Her hand is to her mouth and I can see Dad’s hand firmly on her shoulder to try stop her shaking. It’s breaking my heart. The last image I see before I round the corner is my sister clinging to my dad, her little body shaking while she waves at me, and my dad, red eyed and strong as ever. I just wish he were coming with me, to be strong for me.

            I turn the corner, and suddenly I don’t need to fight to win anymore. I feel nothing. Mom hugs me like she thinks I’m broken inside. I say, “I’m fine, Mom.” And I think I am.

            But in that moment when I don’t need to fight at all, I realize I lost after all. It’s better to feel and cry, than to feel nothing at all. I lost who I was by beating the tears.

            I felt nothing the whole way to America, and now that I’m here I feel everything. I miss everything about home – the sound of our dog’s feet as she sprints up the stairs, Dad singing away as he helps Mom in the kitchen, the green, green fields for which Ireland is famous. Maybe if I’d cried that day and let my family comfort me I wouldn’t feel such a vast emptiness now.

            I find new ways of filling the void now, of bringing back the emotions I realize I am meant to show. Music is my number one method.

            I started playing the piano when I was seven years old. I remember feeling so complete – even while crying – as I played the piano while my cousin walked down the aisle at her wedding last summer. When I caught sight of her and my uncle looking so happy, I felt so complete that I just cried. I was so grateful that I had memorized the music because those tears totally blurred my vision, but I was still able to play from memory!

            I guess crying can remove the emptiness, so long as it is induced by something good, or at least will make you feel better. Now alone in a foreign country, I can look back and see that I was always meant to be a crier. It’s just who I am. My new life motto? Cry with a purpose.