I'm not a normal kid with a normal family and normal life. At age seventeen, I have the ability to readily pass between universes-one that is real, and one where my mother exists.
Although her passing initially left my world in ruins, my mother is my mentor in this parallel universe-the driving force behind all things I do in reality. I live my life as a reflection of her, as if we are on opposite sides of a mirror. As I look into this mirror, a familiar face looks back at me. Our eyes lock in an intense gaze, and I perceive our shared traits-genuity, warmth, and compassion-as she looks back into me.
With each visit to my alternate reality, I'm able to experience the mother's care I've missed out on for fifteen years in my actual life. This image remains in my head and my heart, becoming a silent piece of me. This piece's volume drastically increases when I interact with those who have much meaning to me, pushing me to care for others the way she would've cared for me. I form deep relationships quickly and value those who treat me right, just as she did. The endless love my mother had for me translates to the way I love others; it has taught me at a young age to hold the right people close.
I felt alone not only when I came home from school each day, but isolated in nearly every other aspect of my life. Whether it be in the classroom, on the playground, or on Mother's Day, I was different from the other kids in an irreparable way. Passing between dimensions allowed me to learn to cope with this unchosen isolation. My mom taught me that the only way to thrive from alienation was to embrace it. The circumstances would never change, but the way I reacted to it could. This awakening helped me absorb and convert the previously destructive energy into fuel for my mind-stimulation for my personal growth.
The emotional hardship I've endured makes me unique in the sense that I have been extremely aware since a young age, leading me to have a strong sense of self. Although there have been times in my life when I was not completely sure of how or why I feel the way I do, I am able to analyze and evaluate the situations I am given.
My mother has taught me to focus on the light in every situation, her passing being no exception. The darkness of my loss almost engulfed me, but a perspective change revealed a pocket of light. Without enduring this trauma, I would've been like any other kid, oblivious to the world around me. She's taught me to not take anyone or anything for granted. She's taught me to value those who deserve it and disregard those who don't. She's taught me to live each day as if tomorrow won't come.
I learned at an extremely young age to think as an adult. At age seventeen, I understand that everything is temporary, that nothing is guaranteed, and that life is 10% of what happens to you and 90% of how you react to it.
As each day goes on, the image in the mirror changes. What's looking back at me isn't a normal, carefree seventeen-year-old boy, but a young man who has been forced to grow up so young. The eyes of this reflection have gone from nearly lifeless, pessimistic, and defeated to full of life, love, passion, and drive, living my mother's legacy. I am an adult ready to adapt to what life throws at him, seeing adversity as more of an opportunity than an obstacle. As I look into his eyes, and he looks back at mine, I see a person who my mother would be proud of.
Although her passing initially left my world in ruins, my mother is my mentor in this parallel universe-the driving force behind all things I do in reality. I live my life as a reflection of her, as if we are on opposite sides of a mirror. As I look into this mirror, a familiar face looks back at me. Our eyes lock in an intense gaze, and I perceive our shared traits-genuity, warmth, and compassion-as she looks back into me.
With each visit to my alternate reality, I'm able to experience the mother's care I've missed out on for fifteen years in my actual life. This image remains in my head and my heart, becoming a silent piece of me. This piece's volume drastically increases when I interact with those who have much meaning to me, pushing me to care for others the way she would've cared for me. I form deep relationships quickly and value those who treat me right, just as she did. The endless love my mother had for me translates to the way I love others; it has taught me at a young age to hold the right people close.
I felt alone not only when I came home from school each day, but isolated in nearly every other aspect of my life. Whether it be in the classroom, on the playground, or on Mother's Day, I was different from the other kids in an irreparable way. Passing between dimensions allowed me to learn to cope with this unchosen isolation. My mom taught me that the only way to thrive from alienation was to embrace it. The circumstances would never change, but the way I reacted to it could. This awakening helped me absorb and convert the previously destructive energy into fuel for my mind-stimulation for my personal growth.
The emotional hardship I've endured makes me unique in the sense that I have been extremely aware since a young age, leading me to have a strong sense of self. Although there have been times in my life when I was not completely sure of how or why I feel the way I do, I am able to analyze and evaluate the situations I am given.
My mother has taught me to focus on the light in every situation, her passing being no exception. The darkness of my loss almost engulfed me, but a perspective change revealed a pocket of light. Without enduring this trauma, I would've been like any other kid, oblivious to the world around me. She's taught me to not take anyone or anything for granted. She's taught me to value those who deserve it and disregard those who don't. She's taught me to live each day as if tomorrow won't come.
I learned at an extremely young age to think as an adult. At age seventeen, I understand that everything is temporary, that nothing is guaranteed, and that life is 10% of what happens to you and 90% of how you react to it.
As each day goes on, the image in the mirror changes. What's looking back at me isn't a normal, carefree seventeen-year-old boy, but a young man who has been forced to grow up so young. The eyes of this reflection have gone from nearly lifeless, pessimistic, and defeated to full of life, love, passion, and drive, living my mother's legacy. I am an adult ready to adapt to what life throws at him, seeing adversity as more of an opportunity than an obstacle. As I look into his eyes, and he looks back at mine, I see a person who my mother would be proud of.
