Just Me

Often, I think of myself in terms of other people. I am a fiancee. I am a sister. I am a daughter. I am a friend. I am a classmate. I am a coworker.
While I am indeed all of those things, I am so much more. I am not defined only by my relationships, but who I am inside.
I am a dreamer. I am a thinker. I am a photographer. I am a reader. I am a runner. I am an ice cream eater. I am a scrapbooker. I am a planner. I am a singer.
I pray. I hope. I imagine.

Metamorphosis

A tulip bulb slumbers peacefully in its bed of soil,
subconsciously waiting for the moment when it can throw off its dirty blankets,
saying hello to the Earth.

As the days grow slightly warmer, the bulb awakens.
Stretching from a long nap, the bulb becomes a gentle battering ram,
slowly pushing through the rich soil above.

The bulb morphs into a proud green stalk,
saluting the surrounding air as it cradles a tiny bud.

After days, even weeks of tentative growth, the bud begins to unfurl,
spreading its ruby petals like a peacock parading his feathers.

One afternoon, a light shower falls.
Glistening rain drops dance on lipstick red petals.
The beautiful tulip shimmers in its sparkly new dress of water droplets,
ready to join the party that is spring.

What makes someone beautiful?

In my job at a department store, I spend part of my day in the cosmetics aisles, lining up row upon row of lip gloss and foundation, mascara and blush. Grandiose claims leap at me from the packages, promising 'voluptuous lips' or 'sky-high lashes', all with the implication of making me more 'beautiful.'

Beautiful.

Beautiful.

What does that word even mean?

According to makeup companies, beautiful is a face adorned with luscious lips, long lashes, and spotless skin. But what if all those layers are just a veneer-a mask hiding hurt, shame, insecurity, or a mean streak? Does that make someone beautiful?

On the radio, I've heard advertisements for 'body reshaping' procedures-surgery to make a person skinnier, and therefore, in their eyes, more beautiful. After hearing that ad one day, my youngest sister, not even ten years old, told me that she wanted to get that procedure some day so that she could be skinny and pretty. I turned my face away so she wouldn't see the tears in my eyes as I silently raged at society's narrow definition of beauty. I felt that day as if a chuck of my sister's innocence was torn away, never to be recovered. I grieved that loss. At nine years old my sister had already been so deeply influenced and affected by the industry of 'beauty' that she wished she could go under the knife to more closely fit the impossible standard of beauty in today's culture.

I want my little sister, and every girl, boy, man, and woman to work to transform our definition of 'beauty' from "visibly flawless and thin" to a definition that truly captures all beauty-the beauty of a gentle touch or a soft smile, the beauty of a kind word or a goal achieved, the beauty of a mother holding her child or a family laughing together. When we stop thinking of beauty in a purely visual sense, we can begin to recapture the beauty that isn't always appreciated for what it is.

Beautiful.

Beautiful.

You are.

Silly Simon

Releasing my hand for a few moments, Andrew's fist knocked on the door of his mother's house. Knock! Knock! Within seconds, we heard soft, quick footsteps and saw a flash of freckles from the small window by the door as Simon came running to greet us.

"Serena! Andrew!" he shouted with glee as we entered the house. His skinny five-year-old arms held onto Schatzie, the boxer, with surprising strength as he ensured that she would not escape through the open front door. While we took off our shoes, Simon scrunched up his freckly face and stood on his tip-toes, chatting as fast as he could about his latest adventures, giggling as he saw fit.

Even when Andrew scooped him up for a bear hug, Simon kept narrating, using animated gestures and raised eyebrows as necessary to convey his message. Andrew and I were a rapt audience. I marveled as I looked at Andrew and Simon together.

Andrew and Simon-half brothers by blood, full brothers by love, make a striking contrast to see. Strapping versus tiny, man versus boy, tanned versus creamy, stubble versus freckles. And yet, even with all of their dissimilarities, one trait defines them unequivocally as brothers-and that is silliness.

As Andrew teases and tickles Simon, their laughter echoes through the house. Invariably, they soon start wrestling in the family room. Often they try to recruit me in the war against the other, saying "join my team Serena!" When those attempts fail, they decide that I am ripe for an attack, and wage a tickle war against me! Once I am vanquished (I give up easily) the brothers revel in their victory. Andrew and Simon, so different, yet so alike, never cease to relish the time they spend together.

 Of course, as a five-year-old in kindergarten, Simon is a never-ending well of precociousness and curiosity, as well as hilarity. Just last week, as he was poring over a dinosaur reference book with Andrew, he decided that his lips were very chapped. Without further ado, he waltzed upstairs to get some lip balm.

Muffled laughter ensued as Simon shortly made his way back downstairs. Where his piglet pink lips typically were, a massive brown blob of goop now held court on his face. Simon had indeed made use of the lip balm. His now clown-like lips, when combined with his periwinkle eyes and dimpled chin, made for an adorable and comical visage. For the next few minutes I could hardly contain my laughter as I looked at Simon. He was so intent on reading his book with Andrew and so blissfully unaware of how humorous his lip balm situation appeared.

Simon is growing up. He's now almost six years old. He's serious and sunshine. He's tenderness and tickles. He's cuteness and curiosity. I have grown to love Simon in the time that I have known him, and I look forward to seeing who he will become in the future.

Simon and Andrew on their way to the park.

Hope and Blossoms

Yesterday I saw hope in the form of a blush pink blossom. A dormant part of my soul that had been hibernating through the winter awoke and delighted in the sight. The cherry blossom signaled that spring is fighting its way through the remaining gloominess of the waning winter days, and is just about to emerge victorious.
I stopped dead in my tracks on the sidewalk, exclaiming to myself and those around me "Look! It's a cherry blossom! How beautiful!" After a long, dreary winter, I was so ecstatic to see those delicate flowers cheerily waving at me as they danced in the breeze.
Hello spring, tis so wonderful to see you.

Stress

is a vise
that squeezes the buoyant air from my lungs
replacing oxygen with dread.
Eight-page paper,
Ten minute presentation,
Exam.

Those words mean
long nights,
sleep deprivation,
and a little bit of panic.

Will I pass?
Will I do a good job?
Will I succeed?

Even with questions rattling in my brain,
Somehow I know I will do alright,
Because I always do.

Introduction stage left

My name means peaceful.
Some would say I am.
They see me when I am
Quiet
Introspective
Feeling shy.

Others would probably agree
But they may also say,
"Wait, there's more to that girl"
They see me when I am
Enthusiastic
Fired up
Ready to change the world.

Who do I see?
I see me.
I am both.
I am peace and power.
I am calm and passion.
I am softness and strength.
I am Serena.

Photo by Ammaka Teiryl