Personal Essay

I’m going to die of a stress-induced heart attack. My dad moved away to El Salvador when I was 10 years old, not because of divorce, not because of fights, but because he got a better-paid job opportunity. He said it would guarantee top-tier education and long-lasting economic health, leaving aside a top-tier family dynamic, or our family’s mental health. When it happened, I did not think much of it, I thought it was a smart decision. I knew it was something that he had to do; what I did not realize was that “pigtail hair Maria” would unconsciously make a decision that would alter my thought process and who I’d become. From that moment on, nothing else mattered but to be the best. Since my dad could not know my favorite color, or my friend’s name anymore, the least he deserved was to know I was terrific in school, that I was the best.

For years, all I could think about was how I could exceed more. I remember exam week in third grade. I had this big reading test coming up, and I could not wait to go home to study for it. It was about 4 p.m, and I sat in my living room going over the terms out loud, over and over again until I knew them like I knew Baby by Justin Bieber. As I spoke the terms out loud, I forgot one and could not memorize it. I blinked, and before I knew it I was ripping my hair out, and hitting my head because I had forgotten one term. Crazy I know, but at that time I thought that was what needed to be done because the pain of the hair would be nothing compared to how I would have felt if I had failed that test. Yet, what would remain a problem for me was not ripping my hair out, or playing “The mole in the hole” with my head. The problem would come when I would start to like that stress, that rush of me asking myself to be better. Who cared if I could not sleep, or if I had raging migraines, or cried all night? I know I did not care because I was doing incredible in school.  I had added a rock to my back and I loved it, so I kept stacking and stacking like a drug addict. The problem was that just like with drugs there is always a breaking point.

Look at balloons, as you add air, pressure increases and the balloon grows. However, if you are unable to measure just how much air it needs the balloon will pop and so would I. I became a popped, sad balloon. While my friends were enjoying “The Golden Years”, I was enjoying my gold medals. For a while that was enough, but one silent night, the kind of silent nights where you can hear your stomach growl, and your saliva going down, I found myself alone and drained. I started crying hysterically, grabbing my chest because I could barely breathe, asking myself what I was doing, and why had I done it. As my crying ceased, I looked at my hands, and it felt like I was unreal, and had an existential crisis. Those usually do not end very well for most people, but It was thanks to that, that I realized how insignificant we are. I realized I could spend my entire life breaking my back, to achieve what exactly? Status maybe, or maybe even money, but the reality was that all of that would be meaningless. I had put myself under so much stress, that while my friends were experiencing teenage love and parties with friends, I was developing no connections with anything except scores, and school.

That same night I developed “Maria’s floating rock mentality” and I have lived by it ever since. We live in a floating rock, which maybe not be the best scientific term, but it serves the purpose of my breakthrough. I am going to die, my parents are going to die one day, and I thought that by giving them back good grades I was serving my purpose, but the reality is I was just doing what my dad had done when I was 10. He prioritized economic stability over emotional stability. However, I will never hold this against him, his decision enables me to write this essay today. I understand that is what works for him, but I will not live by that. I cannot let myself die of a stress-induced heart attack. I deserve to find love and make memories with my friends, and my family. Who cares anyway if I get a B in chemistry, we live on a floating rock after all.

I do not doubt that in college I will panic, maybe even cry about achieving excellence; but I will make sure to let myself know I can keep growing beyond that. I will pack my schedule and make sure I am great in all of them. However, great has a different meaning now. Great is not only a score, but me enjoying what I am doing with the uncertain time I have on this floating rock. Rather than inducing stress into my life, I plan to induce moments, experiences and memories.