Smiles After Tears
Something is unraveling within me-yelping, worrying, gnawing at my calm, eroding my peace. I pause. Is it just my usual worry about the future, my happiness? The recurring image of me staring at the detailed plan of my life on a yellow cardboard paper pinned to the pale white walls, with Billie Eilish's What Was I Made For? playing on repeat? No, it's not that. It's her. She was laughing just moments ago-a soft, melodic giggle-but now, tears are silently falling to the floor. She hides her face, turning away from the room. My feet move before I can think. Two steps, then more. I'm next to her, holding her hand-my grip firm but hesitant. I quicken my pace, guiding her out of the room. I don't know where I'm going, but I am determined to chase away the shadows pooling in her eyes.
That moment awakened something in me: the desire to help, even when uncertain of how to do so. Later, I found myself standing up for an assaulted person-a cause I never anticipated but couldn't ignore. Growing up, my efforts to help often felt like I was battering myself, trying to prove my worth. My walls weren't adorned with pop culture posters but with meticulous plans for the future: Learn piano by March 2024, Get into medical school by 2029. Yet these plans, no matter how colorful, often left me overwhelmed and directionless.
When I confronted people I once considered friends to defend this person, they pushed back. Threatened me. But I stood firm. I told them to imagine if it were their sister or loved one in need-would they still remain silent? I fought for her because I knew what it felt like to face pain alone: when my grandad passed away, or when financial struggles rocked my family. Those moments taught me that being present for others isn't about grand gestures-it's about doing what's right, even when it's hard.
The day the accuser was punished, I saw the girl who once cried now smiling-a smile that carried hope not just for her but for others who had suffered in silence. That day, I realized I wanted to understand not just the "what" behind such emotions but the "why." My interest in psychology was born from a desire to untangle the unseen knots that keep people from thriving. Reading Thomas Erikson's Surrounded by Idiots deepened my fascination with understanding different personality types and how communication styles impact relationships and healing. It fueled my determination to bridge gaps in empathy and create supportive spaces for others.
This realization inspired me to take action. I founded a peer advocacy initiative at school to assist international students like myself, often navigating unfamiliar systems alone. Through it, I helped students secure resources they previously struggled to access, ensuring their voices were heard. I also fought for students' rights and became a student advisor, mentoring peers in academic and personal struggles. Beyond school walls, I hosted conferences addressing the psychological effects of trauma on children. What began as an uncertain step forward has grown into a mission to empower others to find their voices.
These experiences shifted my perspective. Life isn't just about meticulously crafted plans or endless self-sacrifice-it's about intention and action. Helping her that day taught me the power of empathy and presence. I tore down my mechanical plans and replaced them with a new yellow cardboard, boldly marked 'Grow with Grace.' With Here Comes the Sun by The Beatles playing in the background, I embraced a new way of living.
Now, I am learning to pursue my dreams at my own pace, shaping a future where ambition and humanity coexist. I no longer cling to rigid plans, knowing desires evolve and tomorrow isn't guaranteed. Each smile I inspire through my work brings me genuine happiness.
Something is unraveling within me-yelping, worrying, gnawing at my calm, eroding my peace. I pause. Is it just my usual worry about the future, my happiness? The recurring image of me staring at the detailed plan of my life on a yellow cardboard paper pinned to the pale white walls, with Billie Eilish's What Was I Made For? playing on repeat? No, it's not that. It's her. She was laughing just moments ago-a soft, melodic giggle-but now, tears are silently falling to the floor. She hides her face, turning away from the room. My feet move before I can think. Two steps, then more. I'm next to her, holding her hand-my grip firm but hesitant. I quicken my pace, guiding her out of the room. I don't know where I'm going, but I am determined to chase away the shadows pooling in her eyes.
That moment awakened something in me: the desire to help, even when uncertain of how to do so. Later, I found myself standing up for an assaulted person-a cause I never anticipated but couldn't ignore. Growing up, my efforts to help often felt like I was battering myself, trying to prove my worth. My walls weren't adorned with pop culture posters but with meticulous plans for the future: Learn piano by March 2024, Get into medical school by 2029. Yet these plans, no matter how colorful, often left me overwhelmed and directionless.
When I confronted people I once considered friends to defend this person, they pushed back. Threatened me. But I stood firm. I told them to imagine if it were their sister or loved one in need-would they still remain silent? I fought for her because I knew what it felt like to face pain alone: when my grandad passed away, or when financial struggles rocked my family. Those moments taught me that being present for others isn't about grand gestures-it's about doing what's right, even when it's hard.
The day the accuser was punished, I saw the girl who once cried now smiling-a smile that carried hope not just for her but for others who had suffered in silence. That day, I realized I wanted to understand not just the "what" behind such emotions but the "why." My interest in psychology was born from a desire to untangle the unseen knots that keep people from thriving. Reading Thomas Erikson's Surrounded by Idiots deepened my fascination with understanding different personality types and how communication styles impact relationships and healing. It fueled my determination to bridge gaps in empathy and create supportive spaces for others.
This realization inspired me to take action. I founded a peer advocacy initiative at school to assist international students like myself, often navigating unfamiliar systems alone. Through it, I helped students secure resources they previously struggled to access, ensuring their voices were heard. I also fought for students' rights and became a student advisor, mentoring peers in academic and personal struggles. Beyond school walls, I hosted conferences addressing the psychological effects of trauma on children. What began as an uncertain step forward has grown into a mission to empower others to find their voices.
These experiences shifted my perspective. Life isn't just about meticulously crafted plans or endless self-sacrifice-it's about intention and action. Helping her that day taught me the power of empathy and presence. I tore down my mechanical plans and replaced them with a new yellow cardboard, boldly marked 'Grow with Grace.' With Here Comes the Sun by The Beatles playing in the background, I embraced a new way of living.
Now, I am learning to pursue my dreams at my own pace, shaping a future where ambition and humanity coexist. I no longer cling to rigid plans, knowing desires evolve and tomorrow isn't guaranteed. Each smile I inspire through my work brings me genuine happiness.
