I lost both my parents by my freshman year in high school.  They were physically at home for dinner and physically ready to drive me to school.  But mentally, they were out of my life.

           When I was eight years old, I ran into the house to find my mom crying on the phone. I didn’t have to understand her babblings to interpret the severity of the incident—my dad had just confessed to an affair.  I suddenly found myself pulling a knife away from my suicidal mom.  After weeks of counseling, she and my dad stayed together.  Despite my desire to keep the family united, I knew my mom had just surrendered herself.

           A familiar woman approached me at my dad’s office when I was thirteen.  She told me that he had an intimate relationship with her for two years and nothing would stop it.

            My mom admitted to herself that she couldn’t stand tall on her own; my dad threw away his chances one too many times. The absence of my parents gave me the chance to succeed in life independently.

 

            I was fourteen and lying paralyzed inside a MRI scanner.  Hours before this moment, I was on the mat at Diablo Gymnastics on my hand and knees with a pulsing pain diverging throughout my body from a single origin in my lower back. 

            My family and I left the hospital with report of a fracture in vertebrae five of the lumbar region and a ruptured disc, a back brace, and a pain pill prescription.

            I had to quit gymnastics because of what doctors called it, “scoliosis, chronic back pain, hypermobility.” I spent countless hours with doctors, specialists, physical therapists, chiropractors, even traditional Chinese doctors.  They all promised that they could make me better.

            Today, I sit at my desk, wearing a back brace with Tylenol waiting for me.  My back pain constantly gives me sleepless nights and hobble walks.   Regardless of this physical ailment, I’m able to be active in whatever I pursue.

 

            I’m able to walk around my house with the positive notion that I’m part of a functional family. I’m able to do cartwheels on Venice Beach.  I’m able to pretend to be the person I want to be, me. 

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