The Politics of Art & Authenticity

It was a sunny day at the beginning of summer.  I was seven and a spoiled brat.  I had been given an ultimatum by my parents: become a magician or choose a sport.  I chose the latter.  I thought I knew everything and could do anything by myself. I thought tennis would be a walk in the park, I would master it and be finished with it.  That day I met three people who would change my life, Rhea, Katrina, and Kim.  Katrina and Rhea couldn’t hit the ball correctly and Kim was inconsistent.  I knew I could beat them.  I felt I was the best until I met him, the coach, at Go! Tennis.  He was 6’2″, had crazy orange hair, and an unusual sense of humor.  If any of us could win just one point off of him he would give us a dollar.  We each tried again and again, sometimes getting close, but never scoring a point.  It occurred to us that it would be impossible to do it alone.  After much discussion we decided to play doubles against him.  Two against one is never fair but we reasoned two of us made up one of him.  Together we played, compensating for what our partners could not do such as running for the ball when they could not.  In the end we achieved our goal and each of us won a dollar.  We learned the value of teamwork while learning strategy and formed The Tennis Experience. 

I was never the type to wear makeup. The pots, the compacts, the brushes, the feeling of being like everyone else didn’t appeal to me. In fact, I found it repulsive. I couldn’t come to understand why women strived to all look the same, when in fact the whole purpose of life is to be different from each other. Women that wore makeup were all trying to look like Megan Fox or Angelina Jolie, or so I thought. During my junior year in high school, I was required to complete an internship. I was able to snag one with a very prominent local photographer and his team.  His team consisted of a makeup artist. I can’t say that I didn’t like her as a person, but her line of work didn’t really appeal to me. She saw through this and for some reason began to teach me basic application skills. I knew it wasn’t something that I’d envision myself doing, but I began to like it.  I started to see how wrong I was in my judgment of makeup and cosmetics in general. Makeup wasn’t meant to make someone look like a clone of anyone; rather it became the definition of a whole different person. I became makeup obsessed, and that wasn’t the end of it. This experience allowed me to see that many things are never how they appear to be.

And it comes down to stopping and realizing who you are, and what surrounds you.

INSPIRATION

I spent the past two summers working in Camp Simcha, a camp for children with cancer. For two weeks each year, the campers can forget that they’re sick, and just have fun all day. Most of the campers have little or no hair, so the rule in camp is that everyone, staff members included, must wear a head-covering. This keeps the campers from feeling self-conscious or different, as they do so often during the year. Simcha is a place where everyone belongs, and it was my job as a staff member to encourage that. I don’t normally like to wear caps but putting one on in the morning became something I looked forward to; it was an action I was doing that would make a positive difference in a camper’s day.

Of course, when I put on my cap in the morning, it reminded me to be grateful for my health. But it also showed me something else. I realized that there’s always an opportunity to make people feel more comfortable. Not necessarily in such a distinct way as covering my head in Camp Simcha, but every day, in different situations, there is something I can do to make someone else feel good, even if its just a quick smile. It may not always be the thing I want to do, but life’s not always about what’s comfortable for me. The lesson I take from my cap is to be sensitive to others and put their needs before my own.

It was just like any other weekend, I was attending the Sunday school teacher’s meeting in the local church. A new topic came up on the agenda. It was about the performances they were planning to do for the Passion Sunday. There were a list of different performances, a musical, a choir and an ensemble. At first, I didn’t know whether I should volunteer. I’ve been always willing to serve God with my musical talents but being merely an assistant teacher whose age barely differs from the kids I had to instruct, I was simply not confident enough. The other positions quickly filled up and when it came to decide who should instruct the ensemble, nobody would volunteer. Passively, I was hoping for any of the regular teachers to take the job so I could participate as an assistant. It was then, when things were about to be wrapped up going without an ensemble, I raised my hand. I volunteered to direct the ensemble.

Everything had to be prepared from the scratch, from recruiting, choosing a song piece, transposing, analysis, conducting, and playing. It seemed almost impossible for one person to handle. Some how I was never frustrated or tired. I enjoyed every single process and it did not feel like I was wasting one single second. As practice sessions went on, I felt more confident not just in playing but instructing the group.

Throughout my life, I have been constantly been discouraging myself from entering the musical field assuming it’s only for the extremely gifted and privileged. I was perplexed by the situation of wanting to pursue violin as more than a hobby while acknowledging the fact that I would not be able to devote my entire life and career into the field.

But here, the solution was. No matter what other people may say, pointing out that I did not have enough credentials or professional training, this was my tribute to God through the gift he had given me.

This is my shoulder rest for my first full size violin. It symbolizes confidence. Without confidence, I would not have been able to step up from my comfort zone and discover other potentials.

It was my junior year in high school when I decided to do something different than my regular routine of just going to school and going straight home. My friend invited me to join the track team with her. I needed to do an extracurricular activity to boost my resume, so I gave it a shot.

The first week of practice was the worst. My body was sore because it wasn’t used to running a lot. At first, track actually discouraged me from running because I was always last during practice. I had to work even harder because my strides were obviously shorter due to my short legs. A normal person’s stride was equivalent to two of mine. I frequently thought of quittingbecause running didn’t seem to be my forte.

Running requires a lot of heart, perseverance, and stamina. It is more of a mental sport than a physical one. Your body wants you to stop and rest. However, you need to keep telling yourself to not give up and finish strong. At the beginning of track, I wasn’t mentally strong enough or competitive. Nevertheless, I didn’t want to quit track. I didn’t want to easily give up on something just because it is too strenuous. So I continued going to practice everyday.

Practice got better and my body didn’t feel sore anymore. I was able to build up stamina and run for miles. I actually began to enjoy track and was looking forward to it. When I run, I feel as though my troubles and worries are temporarily gone.

Track meets were the worst. I disliked being compared to others and having an audience watch as I compete. The wait to approach the starting line was nerve-wracking. I would see my intimidating competitors prepare for their race. As I approach the starting line, the butterflies are in my stomach. The adrenaline starts to rush all over my body when someone says, “ On your mark, get set.” When that person says go and pulls the trigger, I just run. As I am running, my body’s telling me to stop. But I keep telling myself that I can do this and finish. I usually picture a hungry cheetah running after me as motivation. I loved the feeling of pushing yourself to pass your competitors but I hated it when they passed me. On those last 100 meters, I have to give it my all and finish strong. When I pass the finish line, I feel that sense of accomplishment. It’s the best feeling in the world.

I woke up early, ate a good breakfast and said goodbye to my folks. I started my car and drove to the train station. This scenario seemed foreign to me, to be on the train alone. Responsibility for reaching my destination was mine alone and a few minutes could mean being early or missing a class entirely. I stood on the plat

form feeling a combination of apprehension and pride. Sitting down I heard the metal sounds of the hole puncher over my music as the conductor grew nearer to my seat and I got my ticket ready. In this moment as I waited for it to be punched, I examined the ticket and realized that this piece of paper will play a major role in this new chapter of my life. This ticket will take me to the place that will turn me into a successful adult. Staring at this insignificant shred of paper with its tiny ink markings i became cognizant of the fact that this was more than a pass to use the the train but the ticket to my future.

Jade. Defiant. Edgy. The oldest of 20 campers at camp Body, Mind, Soul. She didn’t want to be there. “I’m too old for this. This is stupid,” she said time and time again. At first, I was a little turned off by this. “What’s up with this girl?” I thought to myself.

Little by little, she started warming up to us.  Until one day, we sat together, eating our tacos, stealing trail mix from each other wondering what our next activity would be. I don’t remember exactly how or why it came up but Jade started telling me about her family. An alcoholic father, bedridden mother, jailed brother, the violence, the fear, bouncing around from this aunt’s house to that grandma’s house. “I just want to grow up and get out of here.”

Suddenly everything I ever complained about became insignificant. Complaining about getting up early in the morning. Complaining about not having any more orange juice. Complaining about other people complaining. I realized how sheltered my life had always been. How unaware I was of the things that go on in the world. That here in one of the richest countries in the world, poverty is just as prominent as it can be in a third world country. But here she was, nonchalantly telling me about this like it’s the norm. Smiling, telling me she’s fine, she’ll be okay as she wipes my tears away.

Hope.

Can any of us imagine going through even a quarter of the things she’s experienced without completely giving up? Would you have the strength to persevere through it all even when nothing seems to go your way? Would you remember how to smile?

She did. And from the letters I’ve received from her since, she continues to do so.

Jade. She gives me one more reason to smile every morning when getting out of bed is the last thing I want to do. Hope to dream big when the odds are against me and failure looms that dream. Strength to fight on, when I’m tired and trying no longer seems to make sense.  Jade, the little girl at camp Body, Mind, Soul that gave the word emachiapi, a whole new meaning.

I always remember hearing people say that one person can make a difference, but I thought it to be so cliché and untrue.  I thought the only way people had an influence and made change was with power and money.  I proved myself wrong.  My high school had never recycled, anything.  That includes paper, plastic, aluminum or anything else that can go into a recycling bin.  I was so bothered by this because I grew up in a household where recycling was second nature.  I decided that I had to do something about this issue in my school, and would do anything to get a recycling program started.  It definitely wasn’t easy, and it took a long time, but I never backed down.  Over time I found more and more people who wanted to help me achieve my goal, and after speaking to many administrators and community officials we were able to implement a program in my high school.  I wouldn’t have been able to be successful without all the people who were standing beside me, helping me along the way.  But I also wouldn’t have been successful if I didn’t stand up and do something in the first place.  And that’s when I realized that one person does make a difference.  If someone has an idea for change but doesn’t have any passion, then nothing will happen and life will go on.  It’s not as easy as it sounds, and at many times people want to quit, but it is worth it in the end.  My epiphany helped shape me into the person I am today and has made me more confident and driven knowing that I can do anything if I really set my mind to it.  Just as this one small plastic bottle helps make a large difference in the world, so do I.

I’m a very all-or-nothing kind of person, so I was always naturally very hard on myself, and had a competitive state of mind. My high school exacerbated this because I was in a very large school, with 800 kids in my grade, and the school atmosphere forced us to always try our best, in every aspect, with grades, sports, music, clubs, SAT scores, extra curricular activities, everything. This could have been a good thing, but for me it was a very negative thing. In my mind, everyone was always better than me in something. For everything that I put my mind to, there were 799 other kids who were doing the same thing, only better, and somehow I was falling behind. So when I tried out for my tennis team in 10th grade, I put forth my best effort, but I didn’t think I was going to do any good. I thought I would be a substitute player like I was my freshman year. But when tryouts were over and the team started, I found out I was really playing third singles. Technically, that wasn’t the best spot. First singles was the best spot. But I was just two spots away, so for me, I had finally reached something of accomplishment, something that I could finally attest to as “the best.” So I played my season, and it was fine, and life proceeded as normal. And I didn’t really feel any different, any special, any better because I played a great spot. I enjoyed playing tennis and being on the courts, but I could have enjoyed doing that in any of the spots. I realized that how good you are, in relation to others, well that doesn’t really matter. What you’re doing – that matters. And if you are loving what you do. And if you can do that… then that’s really all that matters. Because looking back on my years of tennis, I can’t really remember what spot I played all those years, and who was better than me, and who beat me. I remember running laps and suicides and sweating and running to hit that last shot right down the line. I remember putting forth my best shots. And I guess that’s what matters.

“Sisters by chance, friends by choice.”

That is what my sister wrote in the letter she gave me right before she left for school a few years ago. Since then, I have always known that Ali was my best friend. It’s the kind of friendship that doesn’t need superficial maintenance or reassurance. It’s as sure to me as the fact that the sun will rise in the morning.