I believe I am my own company. Several years ago, a teacher told me something I did not quite understand: “You are your own company. You come into this world alone and you will leave alone.”
My parents divorced when I was two and I was raised by my father, whose side of the family was big and supportive with lots of nosy aunts, uncles, cousins, and the like. I’ve never lacked someone to rely on, someone to talk to, and people who loved me. And I never really saw things any other way until in year 2000 when my father, at the young age of 40, was diagnosed with Parkinson’s Disease, a debilitating illness that would disable his ability to work and even perform simple daily tasks. I was 12 years old at the time. My aunts, uncles and the rest of the fam were more than willing to be there for me. In their eyes, I was the young child with no mother and a father who was ill. They were sweet and caring; they loved me as if I was their own kid. In short, I resented it all. I wasn’t ungrateful, but I wasn’t a victim either.
I knew what made me happy, and that if I continued to do well in school, I wouldn’t have to worry about daddy not being there in the future.
So I used all the resources I could get my hands on. In high school, I left a great group of friends and transferred to a more renowned school because it presented me with more options. In college, I did the exact same thing, and even better-with scholarship in my hands. During vacation times, I’ve worked in a wide range of job areas from restaurant to retail. I also try to save up whenever I get a chance because I know that when I get out of school, no one will pay off my loans but me.
The word “lone”, l-o-n-e, scares people. People are afraid of being alone or lonely because it has such a sounding finality to it. I’m not lonely or alone, but I’d rather be my own company than be safe with a number. Of course, I keep my few best friends dear because you never know when you need to sit in a café and gossip the afternoon away. When the world does get old, I can always escape into the literature of some witty European who chose to acknowledge “nothing but his genius.” And I sleep peacefully at night knowing that I do not need to rely on any man.
This past summer, I got myself my very first internship and a job on the side. The exhausting schedule had me booked seven days a week and I had nobody to thank but myself. It’s true that I think about myself a lot. Some may even call me selfish, which I can’t deny very well. But I do not believe I am ungrateful. Rather, I believe in myself, and with that I believe my father is proud of me.
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