I write to discover what I know.
{FLANNERY O'CONNOR}
I did not always dream of being an English major. When I enrolled for classes during my freshman year at IUPUI, I was on track to become a web designer with a focus in graphic art. My course-load was intense, including classes in visual media and design, Photoshop, HTML, digital storyboarding, and informatics. By May 1, 2010, I completed my freshman year. Burned out, overwhelmed, yet swelling with a sense of accomplishment, I was excited to revel in my freedom. I needed to recover from my first year of college. The first of May stands out in my memory as a monumentous occasion – not because I wrapped up my finite math final, but because John Moore did something unexpected. The bashful young man had long admired me from a safe distance, but he finally mustered up his courage and asked me to enter into a serious relationship. I said yes. By the fourth of July, we were engaged. On October 10, 2010, we were married. And by June 2, 2011, we moved to Olongapo, Philippines, leaving our family, friends, and home behind. My college plans were set on the back burner.
John and I worked as volunteers in the Philippines for nine months. When we returned home in February, 2012, we began to settle into a new routine. John encouraged me to consider returning to school. And as I began to entertain the notion of finishing my degree, I reevaluated my options. I was not the same timid girl from the suburbs whose well-intentioned father had persuaded to major in web design. After my experiences in Olongapo, I became more assured. I knew I wanted to do something different with my life. Fascinated by cultures and literacies, I decided to venture down a new path. I switched my major to English. I realized that writing, teaching people to write and communicate effectively, was more important to me than programming and design. My time in the Philippines made me aware of the opportunities for English majors who are willing to travel overseas. It also taught me to see the world through a multi-cultural lens. My experiences stretched me, enabling me to overcome my fears of inadequacy. I know what it means to love and be loved – and that is enough.
THE GIRL WHO LOVED WORDS
She wrote before she had the proper words to voice her thoughts. Illustrations of happy families, shiny suns, flowery meadows, and bubbly brooks filled the pages of her early notebooks. Stories enthralled her. She beheld the world with wonder-filled eyes. And when she began to read, she found the words which expressed what she did not yet know how to say. She met new people, became familiar with their voices and the places they called home. She read on, and on, not wanting to stop. She did not want to leave the realm of fiction.
But every story has an ending. As the girl grew older, she discovered – much to her dismay – the joy of reading became less intense. She no longer had leisurely time to devote to reading literature. She had to meet deadlines. She had to read textbooks. She had to invest her time in meetings and math tests and her job. She became responsible. And the beloved books began to collect dust on their shelves. She did not forget them, but she did neglect them.
Yet she did not forget to write. She writes to remember what she must not forget. She writes to communicate. Her writing serves manifold purposes: it is transactional, expressive, and artistic. Her words echo those of the authors she has read. Her words tell her story and the stories of others.
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Donald Murray observed that all writing is autobiographical. When reflecting on my childhood, I saw a bookish girl who looked at the beauty of the world with wonder-filled eyes. I often wish I could still see the world with such innocent eyes. But the older me has experienced brokenness. The older me has accepted responsibilities. And the older me knows what the younger me did not yet understand: the world is not black and white. A spectrum of varying colors falls in between. I believe the reason I write with idealistic optimism relates to the little girl I used to be. I don’t want to lose my sense of wonder. Writing helps me make sense of the complexity I encounter.
My writing is an integral part of my story. My journey brought me to IUPUI, and I will graduate with highest distinction in May 2015, holding a BA in English with a concentration in writing and literacy. I endeavor to impart an appreciation of literacies to prospective students, and will begin by teaching high school composition in homeschool cooperative groups. I also desire to teach ESL overseas, and am interested in returning to the Philippines to work alongside humanitarian organizations. I want to learn about people's stories, and help them achieve their goals.
I am passionate about serving others. In 2011, my husband and I were in charge of a team of volunteers in Olongapo, Philippines. We worked with a non-profit organization, Mercy In Action, for nine months. It was a stretching experience. I delved into the Filipino culture, learned how to weld steel cubo frames, and even assited in teaching ESL to local school children.
The piece below is an excerpt from Togetherness, a personal reflection mosaic I wrote about my relationship with my husband, but I touch on our Philippines experiences as well. My time in Olongapo shaped me: my perspective changed.
TOGETHERNESS
Eight feet by eight feet. The dimensions of the bamboo hut we called home. When the wind blew about the mountain, the grass roof breathed. During the rainy season, the two of us rushed to unroll plastic tarps over the screened windows so the water would not penetrate. We spent sultry nights sleeping on a full-sized bed; John’s feet always hung over the edge. I cooked our meals in an outdoor kitchen on a double burner gas stovetop. Our sink consisted of a makeshift hose and two plastic tubs. John and I worked as volunteers for a grassroots organization in the Philippines.
Mechanic and construction overseer, he was the organization’s handyman. I worked alongside, learning how to weld cubo frames out of steel, weaving grass roofs, helping him lay tile for the midwifery clinic floors. He hauled river rocks and supervised the workers. They built the stone retention wall, spanning 170 feet in length. I taught English to the local children. He fixed generators, maintained the ambulance, added another delivery room to the clinic. We spent nine months on the mountainside in Olongapo. It was not easy, but it was good. He said the experience stretched me.
In many ways, it did. It was not a simple task to fix dinner amidst a raging typhoon when strong gusts of wind whipped through the tarp, threatening to extinguish my feeble flame. Or to trek down the muddy slope of the mountain to the roofless bathroom, sitting on the pot with an umbrella, extracting soggy toilet paper from a ziplock bag that wasn’t always sealed tight.
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REFLECTING BACK ON MY LIFE STORIES
The common thread in both of my stories is writing. My first narrative – written in the first person – emphasizes the discontinuity, while my second story highlights the important roles reading and writing have played in my life. The second narrative seems more linear. Both pieces are true. I grew up surrounded by literacies, and my parents fostered a deep appreciation of literature, words, and discourse. I took my literate environment for granted. Writing came naturally to me. I read extensively, and learned how to form paragraphs and cohesive essays without direct instruction. The second piece briefly captures my childhood, advances through my young adulthood, and paints a sweeping overview of my life. It provides a background for my story.
The first piece is more explicit. I highlight my youthful uncertainty and explain the events that have shaped me, stretched me, changed me. My perspective shifted and my values became clearer as I matured. I include the zigzags, the unexpected experiences, and reflect on the choices that led me to IUPUI. This is the story that I usually tell people when I explain why I chose to be an English major.
Both stories are meaningful. I do not prefer one over the other. Although my parents have influenced me in manifold ways, these stories are my own creation. Had I written my life stories during my freshman year, I am almost certain that my voice would have reflected my father’s tone. We were very close, and he influenced my writing. Recently, however, he told me that he noticed how my style has developed. He described my writing as eloquent. A former professor at IUPUI, Anne Williams, told me that I wrote with a sense of optimism and grace that she did not want me to lose sight of. Marrying John and traveling to the Philippines helped me establish my values. His sincere love and encouragement helped me overcome my insecurities. Our relationship is such that he fills me with calm. If any one person has influenced my writing, it is John.
When composing both narratives, I wrote retrospectively. I looked back on the events and considered how my choices have affected my life. I saw my life and the choices I have made as a series of pathways. I am reminded of Robert Frost’s poem, “The Road Not Taken,” because I see myself as a traveler who must consider which pathways to traverse. Perhaps I chose the path less traveled when I decided to marry John. I chose adventure. I chose love. And I chose not to become a web designer. I do not regret my decision. I chose the road less traveled by most suburb girls whose course is laid out before them, “[a]nd that has made all the difference” (Frost).
On the one hand, my love of literacies has been a part of my life since childhood. It was almost inevitable that my appreciation of literature would eventually lead me to choose to major in some sort of English related degree. By choosing to frame my life story from a third person perspective, I was able to see my life in a different light. My perspective shifted.
When composing both narratives, I was able to see myself through different lenses. Reaching back into the recesses of my memories, I remembered who I was, and I reflected on who I am, and I recalled the events that have shaped me. I think the reason that I write with idealistic optimism relates to the little girl I used to be. I don’t want to lose my sense of wonder. I want to see beauty in spite of the pain and brokenness. I want to acknowledge the ugly and the beautiful. And in this way, I can begin to see the various shades between the black and white spectrums. Writing helps me make sense of the complexity that I encounter. As I write, my values emerge.
