Discuss an accomplishment or event, formal or informal, that marked your transition from childhood to adulthood within your culture, community, or family.
It was a vacation, a year ago. I went to my village as always to meet my grandparents. I left the village 10 years ago when I was seven due to civil war. I never liked vacation in with my grandparents because I always liked trekking in the Himalayas, but this time it was different. I gained something more not an adventure but a purpose of my life. I gained a new and mature perspective.
My grandfather gave me this prospective by taking me back in time. He reminded me of our past, and how I was taken to city as the civil war intensified and how they lived in constant fear for all those years. He told me that I could have voted in city during the election but he registered me there in the village only to bring me back. He made me realize my past, my roots and my very birthplace. He said, 'I want you to know your roots, your identification, the true one. This is your place no matter how far you go away and all other is not yours no matter how near you are of them.'
My grandfather had never talked such things to me before. I was feeling like being inside the emotional movie but my rationality certainly knew it was the truth. I was taken, in fact smuggled, to the capital after the civil violence became intolerable. In the capital I forgot all the things and engaged myself in city life. There was no violence in the city, but a competition and I was doing well in that competition. People certainly were different in the city and were focused on more than mere survival unlike in my village. There were opportunities to grow and expand socially and economically. I got scholarship in a school and later in the high school too. I was growing and so was my experiences of modern life. I was beginning to feel what the future beholds and suddenly I was reminded of my past.
I thought deeply about every words of my grandfather. I explored my village, my birthplace. Though I come to this place twice each month after the conflict ended, it felt different this time as I was sensing it with a new perspective, provided by my grandfather. My childhood came before my eyes. . I also recalled the sound of guns and explosives which once filled this atmosphere. I recalled the moment when I thought I was going to die. And some fond memories. The bushes I used to hide to avoid bathing, and the way to my school. The demolished school and the bridge over the Trishuli River which I crossed to flee the war. The paddy fields, the monkeys that feast our corn and overnight guarding the field from the monkeys. I grinned. I explored more. The trees, the forest, the fields, the mountains, the wind, the people.
I felt patriotic, much more than I ever felt, not just my country but for that very 5 square miles I felt like spending all my life just in that place.
I became complete. My past and my present are united. Before that moment, my future destination was uncertain; I was searching my future in the city and beyond but I got my destination in the village, the village where I was born.
It was a vacation, a year ago. I went to my village as always to meet my grandparents. I left the village 10 years ago when I was seven due to civil war. I never liked vacation in with my grandparents because I always liked trekking in the Himalayas, but this time it was different. I gained something more not an adventure but a purpose of my life. I gained a new and mature perspective.
My grandfather gave me this prospective by taking me back in time. He reminded me of our past, and how I was taken to city as the civil war intensified and how they lived in constant fear for all those years. He told me that I could have voted in city during the election but he registered me there in the village only to bring me back. He made me realize my past, my roots and my very birthplace. He said, 'I want you to know your roots, your identification, the true one. This is your place no matter how far you go away and all other is not yours no matter how near you are of them.'
My grandfather had never talked such things to me before. I was feeling like being inside the emotional movie but my rationality certainly knew it was the truth. I was taken, in fact smuggled, to the capital after the civil violence became intolerable. In the capital I forgot all the things and engaged myself in city life. There was no violence in the city, but a competition and I was doing well in that competition. People certainly were different in the city and were focused on more than mere survival unlike in my village. There were opportunities to grow and expand socially and economically. I got scholarship in a school and later in the high school too. I was growing and so was my experiences of modern life. I was beginning to feel what the future beholds and suddenly I was reminded of my past.
I thought deeply about every words of my grandfather. I explored my village, my birthplace. Though I come to this place twice each month after the conflict ended, it felt different this time as I was sensing it with a new perspective, provided by my grandfather. My childhood came before my eyes. . I also recalled the sound of guns and explosives which once filled this atmosphere. I recalled the moment when I thought I was going to die. And some fond memories. The bushes I used to hide to avoid bathing, and the way to my school. The demolished school and the bridge over the Trishuli River which I crossed to flee the war. The paddy fields, the monkeys that feast our corn and overnight guarding the field from the monkeys. I grinned. I explored more. The trees, the forest, the fields, the mountains, the wind, the people.
I felt patriotic, much more than I ever felt, not just my country but for that very 5 square miles I felt like spending all my life just in that place.
I became complete. My past and my present are united. Before that moment, my future destination was uncertain; I was searching my future in the city and beyond but I got my destination in the village, the village where I was born.