“Chasing Crosswalks” Emily, New York There’s nothing quite the streets of New York at night—think the whirlwind described by the protagonist of Bright Lights Big City, the drugs. I go running down Avenue at night, go shopping for toiletries at the 24 hour drug store and sometimes just go walking with a friend.
like roaming buzz except without Park
Still, I’ve learned that the pursuance of an adrenaline rush isn’t truly enough. I’ll never remember every time I went to buy deodorant at 2:00 am, or every time I went night running. It’s because there’s more to feeling alive than “feeling alive.” Ultimately it’s the tiniest of interactions with others that come to characterize our experience of any given moment, allowing us to most appreciate our own humanity. Growing up in my neighborhood in Manhattan, we’ve always had our neighborhood hobo. His name is James. Everyone knows James. And, if you don’t know him, you don’t live there. Sometimes he’s downright scary, like the time he tried to kill my father with the lid of a trashcan—the police say he’s schizophrenic. Sometimes, he’s the nicest man you’ll ever meet, like when he helped a fallen rollerblader in the middle of the night. This is about that fallen rollerblader because one summer night, at 1:00 am, the rollerblader was me. It was approaching the part of the summer when the city seems dead. When people stick to subway seats, when fathers hide in air-conditioned offices while their families are away at the beach, and when remaining teenagers bask in the glorious humidity enveloping the city, whilst smoking ill-gotten Marlboros on the Great Lawn. Friends were trickling out one by one and for the time being we—my younger sister and I—were still there.
The city may have been moving at the typical, eerily slow pace of late July; we were not. Like many, we felt smothered by the heat; but unlike those around us, we were determined to avoid falling victim to the painfully slow tempo. Somehow, we got it into our heads that rollerblading and scootering around the neighborhood, in the middle of the night, sounded like a great idea. Now, I’ve never been a great rollerblader. I like to think I can rollerblade, but I don’t even pretend that I’ve got the whole stopping thing down. But we’ve never let a pesky thing like safety or logistics serve as an impediment to our poor decision-making. And so, off we went. The air was thick and stuffy, but a few young people were still out. They called out to me by name, so I must have known them; but we were whizzing down fifth avenue and had no desire to stop. Instead, I sarcastically shouted back, “Wanna race? Guess not. WE WIN!!” They quickly faded into the background as Chloe and I raced each other down an increasingly deserted 5th avenue. We created our own wind and were conquerors of the street. Eighteen or so city blocks from our doorstep, we reached 72nd and my sense of responsibility kicked in; we began head to back. We still felt on top of the world, but when we crossed over to Park Avenue for a change of scenery, we found ourselves, quite literally, at the bottom of a hill. We raced up to the top, but by the time we reached 90th street, our adrenaline high was fading fast. Reality began to hit us and the thickness of the air became more noticeable. We’re almost home when I hear “Emily, it’s hot. Let’s go get icecream.” I make a sharp turn in the direction of the Korean deli on the corner at the end of the next block, almost loosing my balance. We’re right outside the deli and I’m slightly nervous because James is in my periphery. I rush Chloe inside the store but while doing so trip and fall face first to the ground. James comes running to the rescue, initially adding panic into the mix with the “oh-crap-I-screwed-up” feeling. The panic soon dissipates; he doesn’t care that my knees and my hands are bleeding all over him. He helps take my skates off and holds them as I walk the block and a half home in my green mid-calf socks. He walks beside me the whole way, and makes sure I make it inside. Meanwhile…Chloe trails behind with three pints of ice cream in a plastic back over the handle of her scooter; typical.
I know this might seem like an odd way to end a memoir or to get to the point. It might even seem like I don’t have one. But life leaves you with those questions, too. That night, I went from escaping reality, to feeling on top of the world, to a fall that should have been met with a visit to the hospital. To me, feeling truly alive happens in context and this night, the lows, the highs and the unexpected kindness and encapsulated my experience of the world all in one evening.
Childlike Infatuation Jharana, New York Hopped up on the energy of the cool fall night air, I run out the screen door, letting it slam behind me as I throw myself into the pile of leaves, letting it fully envelop my body. As time continues on, seconds change into minutes, minutes seeming like hours, I sit in the leaves under the full moon entranced by the illumination of the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. Sitting in those leaves, feeling the crunch under me, I swish my hands back and forth, taking in and using every sense in my body all for this one moment, soaking in all the beautiful pain and breathing it out, releasing it from my body. Smelling the fresh air, feeling the leaves, tasting the freedom I rarely have, seeing the one bright light in the complete darkness, and engulfed in the silence of the sweet, sweet darkness. I sit in those leaves breathing in my pure, untouched medicine, numbing my body from the world, numbing all my pain, numbing all my suffering, numbing all my thoughts for that one moment in time. I hear the door slam closed behind me as a tall man with the funny beard walks outside, lighting up his cigarette in the darkness, my darkness. As I listen for him to criticize my childlike infatuation to the vibrant leaves, he instead starts manifesting the emotions of my body and my mind into his poetry, astounding me with the accuracy of his impression of my soul. Taking in one puff after another I wrinkled my nose at the smell of his cigarette, contaminating my perfect and fresh freedom with instead the smell of tar like smoke. In this moment, I felt as if he was a part of my body that had been ripped from me, and placed right in front of me to reveal to myself the things I couldn’t bear to say. I couldn’t fully see him as he was too far behind me,
and I was too bewitched by the moon to be fully conscious of his presence. I felt as if he was my inner voice, forcing itself from my body, although with such a calming voice I didn’t know he wasn’t part of me. That calm and subtle voice with no cares in the world rang in my ears with such resonance that everything was blurred together for me causing the darkness to tighten more and more around my body, forcing all the air from my lungs creating a cloud of breath in front of my face, frozen in the moment. The lines of my life had no up down left or right because nothing was anything and anything was possible in this one moment, this infinite moment. While I sat there motionless for a period of time, just staring at the moon, imagining everything, I felt so empty, yet so alive.
“A little Splash” Allison McHayle, Jamaica
We had reached the hotel after hours of driving on the rough, bumpy roads that were so narrow if we stuck our hands through the window we would be sure to touch the car driving next to us. The hotel stood estranged from the one we had seen in the brochure days before. My face grew frightened at the idea of sleeping on beds that had more dirt and bugs than a garden. My mom quickly glared through the corner of eye to remind me that the reason we were here was because of me. After cajoling, she agreed that it would be in all of our best interest to find a better place. My two best friends, my mom’s friend and I packed up and were off to restart our journey. A large grin grew on my face as I realized I would be a few short hours away from what I had actually come here for. The grass connected to the sandy shore of a beach. There as I continued to walk with two friends, I could hear the sharp sound of the steel pan in the music. It was that time a year again, that was iconic to all soca loving Caribbean people. The music reminded us all to wine our waists and the pending carnival and road march that would be a week later. As we stepped on to the party grounds there were people laughing and wearing their swimsuits and old white clothes. People fled from all over, whether it was the city, like me, nearby towns, other coastline parishes or other islands. I was ready and awaiting one thing, the paint. I would constantly ask my friend Diarra “ When is going to hit? When are they going to start throwing it out?” She simply shrugged and tried to speak over the music, muttering, “jus cool nuh man.” She too was growing restless waiting for the gallons of paint that we have travelled so far, seen so many pictures of, to be doused all over our skin. Beach Jouvert was a large party, important to the Bacchanal carnival experience, held every year in Ocho Rios. Carnival in the Caribbean did not involve corndogs, dunk tanks, Ferris wheels nor stilts. Instead it was filled with bejeweled costumes, vibrant colours, loud calypso and Soca music, parties and a road parade with floats.
After dancing and greeting many other friends, I heard someone shout, “THEY BROUGHT OUT THE PAINT!” I began to run with the mass of other people towards the area in which the paint had been set out. Anticipating a blow, I closed my eyes tightly feeling the rhythm of the music and expecting to be smothered in colours. Nevertheless, I realized after a few minutes that nothing had happened. It was already 7:00 pm! The Caribbean breeze was blowing violently and the sun had already faded. Suddenly the DJ began playing a song that kept repeating “you ready, you ready.” I felt a sprinkle on my face so light, I though it was starting to rain. When I went to wipe it away, it was yellow. Instantly, a bucket of blue thick, warm paint splashed all over my face as the music grew louder and louder. I couldn’t help but laughing. More and more paint was being thrown everywhere and it felt as if a rainbow was falling from the sky. I felt as if the earth had lifted from my feet. Diarra realizing how enthusiastic I was, remarked, “Wow, you seem to be having too much fun.” I flashed an Oscar winning smile back at her saying, “It’s not only the fun, it’s the music, the freedom and the culture. It makes me feel so alive!”
Betsy Smith, Texas
“Don’t think! Just jump,” my counselor screamed as I flew through the air, feeling the warm lake water splash onto my pointed toes. For the past seven years, I had spent two weeks every summer at an overnight camp in a very small town in Texas. I had built great relationships with all of the 21 girls in my cabin, and I had enjoyed every second of my life at camp. To celebrate our final year as campers, our four counselors surprised us by taking us on a bus trip to get ice cream. We never got to leave the campgrounds, so this was a huge deal. I was sitting next to my best friend on the bus ride, and we were reminiscing about all of our camp memories. I was completely focused on a campfire tale when my friend turned to me and whispered, “Bee, we just passed the only ice cream store in town.” “ Where are they taking us?” I pondered. I knew my counselors would never put me in a dangerous situation, but I was confused as to why they had lied to us. I had the right to know where I was going. I felt as if I had been blindfolded and thrown in the back of a trunk by the people I had trusted for the past twelve days. I looked around, hoping to find a clue about our destination. I saw nothing but a few steep rocks overhanging a body of water. The bus jerked to a stop and barely pulled off the road. “Girls, find a partner and exit the bus in an orderly fashion,” the head counselor urged as we frantically hovered over our seats, wondering who would be the first to get off the bus. “What’s going on?” my bus buddy asked, out of habit. I grabbed her arm and dragged her to the front of the bus. The few fearless bones in my body wanted to be the first to do whatever it was we would be doing.
The second my feet touched the gravel, I saw a stranger dive off the rock that was directly in front of me. In those two seconds, I knew my friends were talking, but I could not hear anything they said. Was the lake deep enough to jump into? Why had I heard a splash and no breathing? Did the man make it out of the water? “WOOO!” a deep voice yelled as the weight lifted off my shoulders. “I would never do that,” I thought. My few fearless bones had broken, leaving a scared girl. I felt a tapping on my shoulders. “Bee, Bee, BEE! It’s our turn now. Come on, the counselors are getting impatient,” my best friend said to me, not realizing I had not been paying attention to anything the counselors had said. I am scared of heights. No matter how old I am, I always get shaky knees when faced with heights. I never thought I would cliff jump, but for some reason, I agreed to in the moment. I did not ask a single question about safety, because I was afraid of what I would hear. Also, I knew if I gave myself any more time to think about it, I would change my mind. My senses kicked into high gear. The only thing I saw was the space where I wanted to land. The only thing I heard was my best friend counting to three. The only thing I felt was my feet leaving the ground. For a fraction of a second, there was complete silence. I felt like I was flying. I had never felt more alert, more animated, or more active than this moment, when I questioned if I was even alive. “Don’t think! Just jump,” my counselor screamed as I flew through the air, feeling the warm lake water splash onto my pointed toes. My body submerged in the water, feet first, then finally, my head. My toes touched the bottom of the lake and I torpedoed off, forcing my invigorated body back up into the air. I had made it! “How do you feel, Bee?” my counselor asked as I climbed back up the rocks. “Alive,” I replied back, “and ready to go again.
“Everybody Saw the Rain” Ana, Armenia
Love, and peace filled my mother's eyes along with voracious waiting and my scream which informed everyone about my birth. I was born and have grown and lived with a desired dream. Some time ago I watched the video which contained fragments about the last minutes of human life. With the last minute instant of it my life was perfectly changed. Since that moment I have enjoyed every second, every minute which I can live. I began to appreciate life more than anything else. I'm sure everybody saw the rain. But have you ever tried to feel it. Feel how the sky is crying, how these tears are kissing the grass, buildings and everything that belongs to Earth. Have you tried to understand that the reason of their spilling is the miss? Because they emerged on the earth, little by little they went away from mother land, but the deep miss made them fall down. Do you know why the sky, this lightweight pile of gases, is crying? Because it can’t attain to mother land, but instead of it, it gave us the sun. Every morning from sunrise to sunset I'm alive with the sun and when the sun gives his place to the moon I complete my life with the moon, I'm born with every star, on the respiration of the world I find mine, I see my spirit's light in this boundless sky, I'm searching myself in life, and at the same time I live with the spirit of galaxy. When I'm sleeping that spirit resolves me into my dreams bosom and again I start to live, but now in an absolutely different world. The world which is directly devoid of the feeling of time. My spirit, my heart, and my imagination, my wishes and why not the future reigns in this world. The reason for the creation of this world is the big passion to live in the human mind. The body rest uses the mind to satisfy the human feeling which the person can’t experience in conscious life. I'm alive with love for everything, I'm alive with love for all that I hate. As for the love, in life nobody and nothing can live if they don’t know what is love, because everything that exists is the birth of love. Love for parents, family, items and science, love for the world and life. Life which is given only once and which we must live with dignity, live with all our soul and not only for body and instincts survival. Some days ago I was speaking to a friend of mine who is doing military service and every second is exposed to the risk of loss of life. I'm sure that many of us have experienced the unhappy feeling, which we called fear. There is one thing which makes us feel alive, it is the fear for time.
However we must be alive. At least we must live to create a new life. We girls have a big advantage... All the moments which we live we become conscious we can live with birth of our love, with the miracle which we give birth. And it means that since our birth and to the end of our life we live without losing a second. We live full of thanks to God's love, because we are ALIVE...
The Story That Didn’t End
The moment I felt most alive, I was short of breath, in a panic, not realizing how fast I was trying to get away. Not running from someone but something. As fast as I walked I couldn't get away. This thing I was running from was inside my head. This little voice whispered to me. I was standing in the middle of the tracks. I heard the train beep at me. I couldn't move, not really thinking about what I was doing. The loud noise beeped again. The hardest part is, no one understands. People don't get why. They never will. When you're falling apart inside, all you want is to disappear. If you just walk in front and stand still, you could leave forever. Never say another word. No more worries in the world. For you. At this stage, the only thought running through your head is what about them. The people I call
family. Would they really care? You don't realize it at the time, but if you're gone, a part of them goes too. When almost dying, I was alive but alive in my own little world. No one could get to me, no one could hurt me. Not even this monster inside my head. I was okay for a minute, a second. But that all ended... I realized I could never take back what I was about to do. My heart was broken, so I thought breaking everyone else's by dying might help. It didn't, it just ruins lives. If I were to die in that very moment, every place I've ever been and every person I had ever met would have changed, no matter how little we spoke or how little we knew each other, a little bit inside of their hearts would have been hurt. I felt so alive because I was alive, I am alive, and there is nothing more beautiful. It's hard growing up in front of all of you, and I know I was going to have a fall or two. I have to learn to accept that. I took a step back, felt all the air brush past me and just fell. Not a thought in my head, everything disappeared and I just didn't care. I felt dead, a moment of pure numbness. But then everything came rushing back, all the thoughts and all the feelings inside of my head. It's like an explosion of confusion, love, sadness, and heartbreak; then there comes a moment when you feel guilty. Guilty about being this way, thinking maybe there's something wrong with me. It's so hard to comprehend all these little thoughts at once. It's weird how the moment I felt most alive was just after the moment I was about to die... I believed I was worth nothing; that if I just slipped away no one would really notice, and no one would care. I felt most alive right in that moment. That moment was the one time I realized how beautiful everything was. How much this thing called life really meant to me. There's nothing wrong with me, I'm a teenager. Things get hard, life gets difficult! No one teaches you the perfect way of living and it's not possible to get through life without making mistakes. I made a mistake and this is why I'm alive today. From that night, I've learnt that life is not something to take for granted. I have lived everyday to the fullest since.
“Riding With Freedom�
Nina, Denmark Like a lost child found, a forgotten letter opened and old ashes bursting into flames. We knew it wasn’t good in major doses so we waited until we craved it so much it hurt in our guts. Exactly how many days had passed without a slight touch of the long lost feeling of freedom? We were craving the emptiness and satisfaction the feeling gives on a whole new level. Until now we had clustered ourselves inside where the feeling of warmth from the open fire lit up our fingertips and we all felt a little nostalgic for summer. The grass crunched underneath the hooves of my dark brown horse as we crossed the open dead land. The sky was milky white and the ground was hard and tempered from the many weeks of frost. The leaves had gone with the wind weeks ago, leaving the forest naked and vulnerable. The silence was remarkable. I thought of summer and how full of life the forest had been just a few months ago. Now it had gone into a deep sleep and I wondered if it would ever come back to life. But it was in these cold days that I saw the rough nature clearly. How a long slumber or even death for some of the creatures of nature could be beautiful and peaceful. The sleeping forest was quiet as a graveyard, and the silence was a hiding place for the lonely soul. My horse, a young and inexperienced creature, thought of the forest as a minefield. Every branch, every sound, was dangerous and exciting. Whenever a lonely bird would come out of its hideout, she would whine and whip her tail through the thin air, making a sound like soft whiplashes. Big breath mists left my nose, as well as my horse's. I stopped her with a slow movement and for once she listened to me, but only because it meant one thing. We had reached our goal. Somewhere on a long wide path between forest and meadow, we found ourselves on this cold November morning. The cold wind sent chills down my spine and my horse tensed her muscles underneath me. She stood still, scraping her right hoof against the barren ground. I felt the tension rising as she started shaking her head impatiently. I knew that it was a very
appreciated ritual. We would always gallop down the patch in high speed while leaving the swirling air and my worries behind. The secession from a world full of trouble and worries never lasted more than a few seconds, but it was worth the wait. My horse started tripping and a transparent steam rose from her soft back underneath me. For a few seconds we stood looking at the patch, and I forgot about school, family, friends, and the future. All these worries seemed to slip away as they always did when the tension rose before her liberation. I took a deep breath and let go of the reins. I did not even have to push her to gallop; she was already in high speed. The ice cold wind cooled my face and tears started running down my rose red chins. The ground underneath us seemed to disappear and I felt like we were flying. Her breathing got uneasy and deeper but the will to run was incredible. The only thing I could see through my tweaked eyes was her mane whipping into my face. I whispered a little hurry in her ear and we accelerated even more. This ride was always a place I would let go of life and feel complete freedom. Not only to leave trouble and worries behind for just a short time but also to lift an unknown pain from my chest, and as the forest flew by, so did my past flashing across my mind’s eye like a movie, that became more and more transparent, until it disappeared and my mind seemed cleared of all good and bad. Such relief no other occasion could create. I knew that in a few seconds we would have to slow down, but I suddenly felt something different, I felt something in my leg, I felt pain. A little deer ran out on the patch and looked at us with its big Bambi eyes. My horse stopped running but the ground was hard and there was nothing to slow us down. It all happened very suddenly. I felt my body being pushed onto her mane and suddenly flew over her like a ball being thrown. The deer had disappeared and as I laid in the frozen grass I could not help but think; where did it come from, and why had I not been more careful? Why had I been selfish enough to let the possibility of hurting three lives today? This was not who I was. My leg was not the only thing hurting at this point, my heart was aching as well. The sky was still milky white and the ground was still tempered and death wasn't such a beautiful thing any longer, because it could have involved me. So close and yet on the right side of the edge of what could have ended a very short life, hardly a respectable way to satisfy the feeling of freedom that seemed to relieve a heavy pain from my chest, a burden that I later defined as reality.
"Music Geekery� Anna Marie, Tennessee
There has not been a moment, one singular moment, where I have felt the most alive, I am sorry to say. There has not been a second where I could point and say, “There. There is the pinnacle of my life, the instant where I knew well and truly what it meant to live, to exist. That is the moment that has defined me.” To try and find one would be tiring, frustrating, and wholly impossible. Yes, there are moments that have come close. We all have experienced those moments, those adrenaline-filled instances where we have felt as if we stood on the brink, a hairs-breadth away from something marvelous and grand. But then the moment fades, and it is gone, and you can only go looking for the next thrill as a replacement. I feel as if those moments are like drugs. They lend the impression of fulfillment, of joy, but inevitably fade and leave you wanting more. No, those are not where I have felt the most alive. I believe that I feel the most alive when I listen to truly great music. Music is… incredible. Through a series of seemingly random noises, a composer can provoke joy, despair, triumph or loss. They can elicit emotion with something as commonplace as sound. Isn’t that amazing? Isn’t it crazy to think that you are capable of such feats, with something as commonplace as your voice? I realize that all art forms, not just music, are supposed to achieve this result; however, I have yet to find an art form that touches me
on the level that music does. I believe it is the participatory aspect of music that appeals to me- I do so enjoy an opportunity to sing. Whatever the cause, it is music that brings out the most of me: the hidden quirks and the buried depths. There is a thrill in producing music that I have yet to find anywhere else. I drive my family crazy with the constant noise I produce, the humming and the tapping and the poor harmonization on particularly long car rides, but music is hard to quit once you have found it. Music is also like a drug, in that respect. I have taken to wandering my yard at night, bellowing out partial lyrics to songs I partially know, waving my hands in the air as I conduct an invisible band, or orchestra, or whatever has caught my fancy that night, trying to provide an outlet for the indescribable emotions that are rising within me. I must look like a lunatic while I do it, but does that really matter? I am doing what I love, what makes me feel alive, and that surpasses the little things, like what people think of me. So I would say that the moments (for it is impossible to distinguish from the many the “best”) I feel the most alive would be when I am completely enraptured in music. They are in the swelling chorus, the thrilling descant, the powerful bass and the pounding drums. They are when I experience music, because that is what makes me feel alive, and elicits the purest and most complete form of me.
“The Kingda Ka” Iman, New York I felt like I was flying. The air combed through my hair. Never before had I felt like I was able to accomplish anything, let alone ride a rollercoaster. It was the summer of 2012 when my family and I went to Six Flags, the Great Adventure theme park. I could see all
the roller coasters from the parking lot with their loops, turns, and passengers screaming for their lives. I was enthused to finally be able to ride the one roller coaster I had been dreaming of riding. The Kingda Ka. I had heard so much about this roller coaster. It’s the tallest and the fastest in the country. I walked closer and closer to the entrance, overjoyed by the fact that in 10 minutes I would be able to say that I had rode the Kingda Ka. Waiting in line was probably the most nerve-wracking part of the whole day. I waited anxiously as questions flooded through my mind such as “what if it breaks?” and “what if I die?” Then, the time came and I took my seat on the ride, in the very first seat! Butterflies fluttered through my stomach as the trolley started to move. It stopped abruptly right in front of the start of the ride, waiting there for about two minutes. Apart from the line, this waiting period was probably the most nerve-wracking time yet. Zoom. As we started to move, the only thing in my mind was “this is amazing.” The feeling I had was incredible. I felt like I was flying. As the roller coaster went up the track I could tell we were close to the drop. To me, the drop was the scariest part. We were on the top in no time, and I could see the whole park from there. Even though we were only at the top for a few seconds, it felt like forever. I felt like I was on top of the world, and I was higher than anyone else. In that very moment I felt weightless and I felt like I was falling. I felt ALIVE. In a matter of seconds, the roller coaster dropped and quickly came to an end. Again, I felt like I was back to normal: I wasn’t flying, I wasn’t weightless, I was alive but I wasn’t. Now as I look up at that spot on that roller coaster, I remember the way I felt before: alive.
"From White Belt Newb to Black Belt Expert" Busra, New York
Well, you’re still only a white belt, are you sure you’re ready for this? There’s no harm in waiting till next-” I cut off my father right there with an unperturbed yes. He blinked back in surprise. “Look at you being brave! And to think it’s only been two months since you joined.” Two months? Had it really only been that short? I felt like I had been a martial artist for almost two years. I reclined my head back in my chair. Two months ago was midsummer. I had been sitting around in the living room, too bored it seemed to even want to move. My father saw me in this state, glued to the hot leather sofa, remote in hand, with glazed over eyes. “You can’t just sit around Busra” he said. “You’ve got to stay active, you’re still so young” It was a random decision. We hopped in the car that day to go out for a ride. On our way to grocery store, I finally saw it. Well, to be fair, I had already seen it, at least a hundred times, but it had never actually stuck out to me. “I want to do that” I said, pointing at the sign next to a building my family drove by a hundred times without giving a second glance. “You want to do tae kwon do?” My dad asked. My mom looked even more concerned as she said “I thought you were talking about ballet, or ice skating. Those would be fun too!”
“No.” I said. “I don’t want to dance or skate around in short dresses. I want to do tae kwon do.” While my mother continued questioning my choice, my father parked near the martial arts studio and we all went in. The first thing we noticed? A young black belt, probably around 17 or 18, fly through the air and break through a solid block of concrete. My mom looked back at me again with wide eyes. “This is what you want to do?” I nodded. I had never seen anything more beautiful in my life. And finally, my parents caved in and signed me up that day. Two months later, I told them that I was going with my tae kwon do class to compete in championships against our rival schools. The championships included 3 events: form, board breaking, and sparring. I was still only a white belt at the time, but my instructors had told me it would be a new experience for me, and that I would only ever be placed in rings with fellow white belts around the same age as me from other schools. Maybe the occasional yellow or orange belt. My mother was a little more willing to have me compete after hearing that. The day of the competition, I was placed in a ring for form and immediately felt butterflies flutter around in my gut. There were no other white belts. In fact, there were only two other people in that ring with me, an orange belt boy around the same age as me, and a green belt girl, a few years older. As different belt levels, we had different forms to demonstrate, yet the judges scored not on our experience level, but on the elegance, power, and energy we put into our form. The result? I won first place in that ring. The next event was board breaking, and I was placed in a ring with a few yellow belts, orange belts, and another green belt. Still no fellow white belts. Though I was unable to break all 6 wooden boards with my roundhouse kick, I still got 3rd place. My last event was sparring, for which I only had one opponent: the orange belt from my form ring. After 60 minutes of trying to throw as many punches and kicks as my 10 year old self could muster, I came out victorious, holding my first place trophy high above my head. I felt more alive that day than any other day of my existence. I thought I would never have such a day in my life again. I was wrong. Every day I was in that studio, or in the championships stadium, for the next four years was lived to the fullest. Even my month-long vigorous testing for my black belt, though I felt like I might collapse from exhaustion at some points, proved to be one of the most memorable challenges I had ever faced. Looking back now to the black belt, still hanging in my room, I knew I had
embarked on a journey I would never forget. One that truly taught me what it meant to feel alive.