The Two Way Mirror
To the world, my father was a family man. To his family, he was a looming figure of unpredictable rage who wore a facade of cordiality to protect his reputation. These contrasting personas often overlapped, but never had my father's volatile alter ego been publicly visible. The summer before my senior year, I chose to shatter this two-way mirror. Through it all, I've come to believe that with thoughtful conviction, even the mightiest walls can be toppled. Oftentimes the obstacles in front of us are illusory, but it is faith in our individual truths which enable us to transcend walls and illusions alike. We all face such walls; mine was my father.
On July 7th 2017, I stepped into my home with a lingering optimism from the international youth leadership conference I'd just attended. The three days I spent working with the creative and reflective people at this conference afforded me a glimpse at my own value, an acknowledgement which was a rare commodity at home. Exhausted and satisfied with the immersion into conversations with researchers and educators, I collapsed on my bed and fell asleep.
All of a sudden, I was startled into consciousness by the too familiar clamor of screaming voices, which paused only momentarily for a reverberating thud. My father had thrown my mother to the floor downstairs and began unleashing his usual barrage of threats on her. I jumped out of bed to see what was happening, and over the next few minutes, was again witness to the abuse my family had endured for years. Hiding in the shadows of the hallway, I recorded it on my phone while urgently texting a friend to meet me down the road. As soon as my father left, grabbing my still packed bag from the conference, I fled. This was the most deeply frightening sensation I'd ever experienced: not knowing where I was running to, but nevertheless knowing it was time to leave.
My family had a firm code of loyalty and pattern of denial. I was concerned if I attempted to out my father, his cunning, age, and military background would render any efforts toward exposure futile, not to mention my fears of retaliation and violence. However, the mindset of independence fostered by the leadership conference, paired with the undeniable proof I'd finally procured after years of attempts, emboldened me to end my cycle of silence.
Leaving home, I struggled watching my world become a kaleidoscope, but these challenges were abated by the enormous support of my friends. Living with my newly appointed guardians - my school's debate coach and AP English teacher - has combined two of my favorite subjects: debate and literature. I've become more interested in my academics than ever before, concluded a successful season on the varsity soccer team, practiced my guitar regularly, devoted more time to reading, and engaged with people in a more vulnerable way than I was ever capable of under my father's eye. These things, which to many would seem ordinary, still feel foreign to me as I puzzle through how to redefine my sense of normalcy.
I oftentimes reflect on the lessons I've learned. I know not to stifle my truth, nor to let anyone else do so, but I also understand that honesty has a partner in kindness. I have learned that inaction can, at its least harmful be immoral, and at its most harmful cause irreparable damage. I've learned that central to a healthy life is appreciating the fact the future is mine to shape. I believe the difficult times I've experienced have given me a unique perspective which I carry with me as a student and global citizen. The years behind me have prepared me with the courage and self-advocacy necessary to pursue anything. So here I am, working to be more myself, and living to be more in tune with others.
