The Art of Being You

While closing the door to my dad’s navy blue, Nissan SUV, I kept thinking about the short phrase he tells me every morning, “Be You.” After close to three years of high school, these two words have become a staple to the end of my morning rides to school with my dad. At first, I would brush off his words as “parent-talk,” however, as graduation grows closer, this phrase has formed into a new meaning, especially when I delve into my passion for art.

As soon as I learned about the principles of art and the formal qualities that are used to create an art piece, I began to see it everywhere I looked. For instance, when looking at an advertisement I would find the artistic decisions the designer made to catch the viewers attention or when passing a building I would observe the work of the architects that allow a visitor to have a pleasing experience. This is the beauty of art, it is used in endless amounts of form and medium to give people the freedom to express themselves, and find their true identities. For me, art has mirrored its unique characteristics and helped me to find my true identity in the world. It has revealed to me that there is no “right” way of going through life. Being unique from the people around you is not something to be ashamed of, but something that should be celebrated and shared.

A piece that I have created, and am most passionate about, is called “Be You”. This is a graphic design I created for the annual art show at my high school, and in my piece it presents the silhouette of an African American girl with her natural curly hair exposed. Behind the girl, I decided to place layers of different colors to represent all of the unique traits that make her, her. The piece as a whole symbolizes how beautiful it is to express and to communicate to the world what makes you, you. This concept is very important to me because growing up as a hispanic girl I have always looked very different from my fellow classmates, and in the past this upset me greatly. When I was in elementary school I wanted to look like my other classmates so much so, that when my family and I went on summer beach trips I would stay under an umbrella the entire time to prevent my skin from getting any more tan than it already was. However, as I grew older I learned that this difference is what makes me special and beautiful in the world and I should share that difference, instead of hide it.

When viewing my work, I want people to deeply reflect to discover if they are disregarding their own special qualities in order to fit into the norm of society. I want people to escape the reality of society and come into a world I have created in my piece, and reveal to them the power that individuality can hold in a society that is afraid that they will not be accepted for who they really are. I, Kathia Guzman, am an artist who strives to connect to the minds and souls of people all over the world. I am thrilled to grow in knowledge, to learn from my mentors, and to take this privilege to make a great impact on the world. I aim to use my messages to help people grow in love for themselves and the people around them. I want to help people realize their inner beauty so that they can celebrate the art of being you.

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It was a Sunday morning. April 30th, 2017. My alarm went off right at 4:30 a.m., however, I had been awoken long before the incessant beeping by the butterflies in my stomach. This would be the day of my first sprint triathlon—a race that demanded a half-mile swim in the open ocean, my greatest fear. Months of endless training and 4 a.m. workouts had all led up to this day and it had finally come. By 6:30 a.m., after two hours of restlessly waiting, my wave was up to the starting line and the reality of the ocean swim hit me. I knew I was ready for this race physically, but the mental games began as negative thoughts flooded my head. Would I be able to finish? What if I get a cramp in the open water swim? Will my tendonitis flare up during the bike or running portions? To rebuild my courage, I gave myself a pep-talk and continuously thought positively as I told myself that I was ready for this strenuous race. As the starting gun was shot into the air, I was filled with adrenaline and numbly entered the choppy ocean which contained all of my greatest fears. I was surrounded by deep, cloudy waters and swimming bodies which kicked their legs and flailed their arms. Although swimming in the terrifying ocean was my least favorite leg of the race, I kept hearing the little voice inside of me strengthening me to finish and from then on, the rest of the race felt like a breeze as I went on to dominate the twelve-mile bike ride and five-kilometer run. The moment I saw the finish line, where my entire family was waiting—nearly two hours since I had seen them the starting line—I pushed out all of my energy and finished the race. My first sprint triathlon completed. My worst fear conquered. And the best part yet was that I placed first in the entire novice division revealing that hard work and defeating the once impossible always comes with not only physical awards like my medal and trophy but also a mental award that I was able to conquer my fear of the ocean.

Through building up of my self-confidence with discipline and passion for fitness I was able to overcome my phobia and have been empowered to try new experiences that are personally arduous. In embracing such challenges, I was inspired to compete in triathlons regularly and have since then used this drive to complete six others throughout Florida. I have also used this empowerment to face unfamiliar situations by attempting other personally intimidating activities. In January of 2019, I decided to compete in a beauty pageant and will be participating in another this November—a competition that is out of my safe haven considering the great amount of public speaking and stage time entailed. Even after sixteen years of dancing competitively on a stage, the idea of walking perfectly and speaking flawlessly to a crowd of people is a different sort of fear. However, these challenges and fears are what excite me and continue to push me into unknown feelings. They force me to replace any “what ifs” with “I will”. It is through my embracing of new opportunities and living out the unfamiliar that I have been able to value the characteristics that make me unique and push myself to my fullest potential.

This drive has also fostered in me a desire to inspire and teach others how to face their own fears, conquer what they once thought was impossible, and build up confidence in themselves. As a swim instructor at the Plant City YMCA, I have been blessed with the opportunity to teach younger children how to swim. With most of them scared of the water, teaching them positive self-talk and relating with them on a personal level, comforts them and ultimately allows them to dominate their fear of the pool. The rewarding feeling of my students going from terrified of the water, to having so much fun that they do not want to leave the pool, has encouraged me to continue facing upcoming challenges in my own life with a positive outlook and to inspire others to do the same.

Look, it wasn’t my idea to become so attached to teddy bears. As long as I could remember, every Christmas, my dad would buy me a teddy bear for Christmas. Dressed in some brightly-colored clothing with a matching bow, it was one present I knew I would receive every year.

This annual tradition began when my dad purchased one for my mom to celebrate their very first Christmas together. Slowly, the collection grew, and when I was born, my father decided to give me all the bears and would give me one every Christmas. Now, there are approximately 22 bears stuffed in my closet, all with the year stitched on their left foot. Out of those 22 Christmas bears, there is one that will always be my favorite.

It’s a fluffy white bear from 2010. Of course, it is dressed in a poofy pink dress because I received this bear when I was eight (At that age, I was adamant that the bear wear pink). I did not know it at the time, but that was the last Christmas bear I ever recieved from my dad. It was a holiday season spent in the ICU. Most children wanted toys for Christmas; the only thing that I wanted was my father back.

A month later, I sat in a church listening to others describe my father and how he lived his life. That whole day was a blur of pitying condolences and black dresses. It was filled with people giving my mother sad looks and uselessly attempting to comfort me. I didn’t care. These people never even visited my dad in the hospital, so why bother now? If there is one thing I remember from that day, it’s a build-a-bear.

There was a family who lived across the lake from my childhood home. I don’t remember much about them, only that they had children around my age who I occasionally played with. On the day of the funeral, the family made the trip over. I looked up as they came into the room, readying myself for another round of condolences. Instead of a long winded apology, they gave me a box. Inside was a white, fluffy bear dressed in a white and gray plaid shirt, jeans, and black shoes. I found myself staring at a bear dressed like my father.

My last two bears are polar opposites. One is filled with the last lingering sense of joy and love my father left behind, while the other is a way for me to remember that my dad is never far, that my memories of him and the love he shared are always going to be with me. However, I do know one thing. Life is crazy. People can be here one day and gone the next. These bears remind me of the tough times I’ve been through and those that will come, but most of all they give me hope for my future.

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Megan Corrigan

Ten Minutes and One Second

A year, nine months and four days can be combined into a video that is ten minutes and one second long. This video means so much to me and represents a major change in my life. September 2, 2017 is the date that my cousin Owen died after a year-long battle with Leukemia. After his death, I was very sad and frustrated, as any family member would be. I didn’t like feeling this way and wanted to make a change.

The New Year signifies a fresh start and a new beginning. With this in mind, for my New Year’s Resolution of 2018, I wanted to appreciate every day more. Keeping in mind Owen, I decided to document something important every day of my life, either positive or negative. I am not the biggest fan of writing, so a journal would not work, but I also wanted to keep it short and simple. So on December 31, 2017, I decided to record one second every day for the whole year and create one large video of these moments.

This video makes me think a lot about how blessed I am to be given so many opportunities but also how silly I can be. In 2018, I tried the exotic “Jackfruit” from the southern rainforest of India, modeled and 3-D printed the Metropolitan Museum of Art and the City Spire building in New York City, ate lots of Chick-fil-a, had a “Star Wars” marathon, discovered that I had scoliosis, and had way too much fun. Thankfully, I “steered clear” from all the homework videos because I knew that would be extremely boring.

I was so happy with the 2018 video that I decided to continue into 2019. Nine months in, I have successfully recorded multiple dance parties with myself in between homework sessions, humourous pre-calc memes, egg selfies, being pushed to my limits at the Naval Academy Summer Seminar, the start of senior year, and running in many rainstorms with my friends.

My only regret about this video is that I wish I would have started it earlier. High school has been the best time of my life. Learning so much about myself and creating memories that will last a lifetime. These memories shared inside this video, I wish I would have started this freshman year. It is crazy for me to witness how much change has occurred in my life and it hasn’t even been two years, I could not begin to imagine four. Even though I started this video for me to get passed my hard times I am so thankful for it. I have realized to not stress the small stuff because, in the grand scheme of life, we have so much to be thankful for. I can’t wait to see what other adventures this video will hold and I am so proud of the ten minutes and one second that I have currently.

The Business Mogul of the Century: A 9 Year Old Girl 

“How can a nine year old create and manage a business while carrying out the duties of a child?” you may ask. It all started circa 2010 when my grandfather gifted me a crimson-red cash register with a keypad and drawer, which unleashed the depths of my imagination.

With complete disregard for inflation rates, I conducted numerous trips to the dollar store where I purchased fake currency to fill the empty spots in my cash register. The next step was to choose my product. ‘Produce’ and ‘profit’ were the only words in my mind as I marched my way down the staircase of my aunt’s house to demand her knicknacks be redirected to my trade. She produced a basket of hotel shampoos which she had collected over her years of travel. I had my products, but there was just one thing missing; a sales associate. As my best friend and partner in crime, my older brother met the strict criteria for employment.

Not long after my brother’s initial employee training session, my business was ready for its grand opening. Customers were in abundance considering my aunt was hosting a dinner party with her adult friends who couldn’t say no to carrying out a little girl’s wishes. They were the ideal demographic. Using my amazing sales skills, I lured my customers into my store where I sat proudly behind my cash register. Fortunately, my store turned a real profit in its first quarter.

Now, some may say I was a rather aggressive business figure due to my authoritative nature and heavy handed management. My employee, for instance, was not pleased. He was the ideal employee for all of two weeks. Unfortunately, I had to terminate his employment. We had been sorting the files in which I had recorded all my sales when my brother endured a mild paper cut. His first instinct was to yell, which was understandable, but the crying was not appropriate for a working environment. I offered my apologies with utmost sincerity for this workplace incident. My aunt, however, decided to interfere with my business practices and offered my employee medical leave. I warned my employee that his job would be on the line if he took the offer and he would not receive his pay. He objected. I had a total of two words for my employee when he rushed down the stairs into the arms of my aunt, “YOU’RE” and “FIRED”.

Given my extensive experience running a lucrative and successful enterprise, it should be no shock that I will be carrying my red register economic theory into the global economy. Watch out, Jeff Bezos.

Bang

I don’t know if you’ve ever not been recognized by people you’ve known for 15 years, but it’s surreal. It wasn’t until lunch, later that day, that any of them said a word to me, even though I had seen them looking at me in the halls in between classes. I thought I had done something to upset them.

“She looks really familiar,” I could hear all of my friends whispering to each other as I walked up to our lunch table, and that just confused me more. I obviously never even considered the fact that they simply didn’t realize who I was because of how I was wearing my hair that day: I had my bangs pinned back.

Have you seen very many teenagers with bangs recently? There is a reason for that. At every little girl’s first haircut she gets bangs, it’s like a rite of passage. Most girls then grow out their bangs by the time they hit the fifth grade. I was definitely not like most girls; I was a high schooler with bangs. I’m just going to let that sink in.

My hair is what made me different. I was never the tallest in my class, and I was a little insecure about my height at times. As a matter of fact, when I was growing up, doctors would say I’d be lucky if I made it to five feet tall. Despite that, I consider myself to be a bit of an overachiever in all areas — and made it to a whopping five foot and five inches tall. So picture this, a short Hispanic girl with bangs and a backpack…

I’ll say it so that you don’t have to.

I looked like Dora the Explorer. If there were a way to include a picture in this essay I would.

The reason why girls my age will cut bangs is because they are going through some quarter-life crisis. You could say that at the age of 15 I was going through a quarter-life evolution. I put my fears of change aside and determined to grow out my bangs. I told myself that I at least needed to give it a try because it can always be undone. I have no clue what really prompted this sudden change, but I’m glad I did it because the past year and a half without my bangs has been the best time of my life.

It seems silly to think that a hairstyle was holding me back from being the best version of myself, but it took a lot of courage for me to change my appearance in a time of my life where how someone looks seems to mean so much to everyone else. The courage I found in myself from this experience helped me succeed through the most important and amazing years of my high school experience. It was a long process and my bangs still hang around to poke out the top of my head when I put my hair up in a bun, but I feel so much more like myself that I don’t even care.

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A dog robbed me once. I remember it like it happened yesterday and I’ll never forget it. I couldn’t have been more than eight when the tragedy took place. It was back when I lived in Georgia and I was visiting my dad. At age two, my dad had the grand idea of putting me on our dog, Casper to reenact a pony ride. Long story short, I was dropped on my head and I haven’t trusted a dog since. Going to visit him and meeting his gigantic German Shepard was about the last thing I could have wanted. His name was Fritz and he was 100 percent out to get me.

As a kid, I was a complete shrimp, tiny in every sense of the word. That, added to my vast imagination, allowed me to believe that Fritz was this towering wolf that would tear into me as soon as dad looked away. My dad thought it was hilarious. It was not. I remember sitting on the couch in a separate room, with the door slightly ajar, enjoying my hotdog and Lays potato chips, looking for ways to amuse myself whilst I ate. At eight, I obviously hadn’t been around that long and in my short existence, I could have sworn that was the best meal I’d ever had. I was content, eating my hotdog and chips, and wouldn’t you know it, in waltzed Fritz like he paid rent. I screamed bloody murder, and while I was busy trying to climb time and space to get away from him, he did the unthinkable. He made a beeline for my plate and ate my hotdog and exactly one chip. I cried for the rest of my visit and vowed that dogs were the hounds of hell.

Fast forward five years to 13 year old me. My sister, mother and I were in the middle of relocating from Georgia to Florida so that my mother could be closer to my grandparents. My mother had a few tasks to handle back home so my sister and I moved to Florida to live with our grandparents a summer earlier than her. My mother knew how much I disliked dogs, so imagine my absolute shock when she finally moved to Florida bringing along a mutt named Oreo. My family refuses to let me live this down but I jumped on my grandmother’s couch and threw whatever I could reach at the crazy dog that was barking at me. At the time, I couldn’t see any possible good in having a dog. I was adamant in avoiding Oreo due to my fears. However, getting a dog helped me realize an important lesson; sometimes there are changes in life that we don’t want to accept. At some point in life, there are going to be situations that I’ll face where I won’t be able to get my way, and Oreo was one of many examples that helped me understand that that’s okay. Looking back I can’t help but be grateful to my mom for bringing me my best friend.

The Tin Man and the Ostrich

I’ve always loved music, but my voice has never been something to admire. My friends would deny it, but I knew the unspoken, inevitable truth: my voice, desperately attempting to reach high notes and growl out low ones, sounds like the Tin Man and a live ostrich in a cage match.

Despite this reality, I still love using music to bring people together.

My dentist drill-esque singing voice has brought people together in the strangest locations. For example, the soccer field. On the hot afternoon of an important game, turf burned beneath us like a bed of coals. We were down 1-0 in the state finals against our major rival, IMG Academy. I huddled next to the other team captain, Emma, and told everyone to breathe deeply and listen to my prayer. Slowly, I started to sing the lyrics to a little ditty we all knew, a song that had become our team’s de facto anthem. I watched faces that had been serious and morose thirty seconds before slowly break into smiles. My “prayer” was Kanye West’s iconic rap song, “Gold Digger.” The mood continued to improve as everyone joined in, our discordant voices resounding like thunder. After the song, we played with the confidence and swagger of multi-millionaires. Thanks, Kanye.

Another time my infamous singing voice helped me out was during the “Graveyard Shift,” a play I wrote and directed last fall. On opening night, the cast and crew came to the theater early to prepare. They could tell I was on edge by the number of Red Bull cans they saw crumpled in my car. While everyone was backstage, I sat alone at a piano on the stage. My hands trembled from nerves, so I tried playing a couple of notes, but my fingers kept flubbing them. My friend Robin joined me. Recognizing the tune I was attempting to play, she started to sing along. Slowly, the entire cast and crew gathered around the stage as I played “Vienna” by Billy Joel. I looked around at my friends: a mix of crew shirts, jail uniforms, clown costumes, and chicken suits. My screeches were lost in the monsoon of voices. Everyone was singing along, and halfway through the piece, my hands stopped shaking. After the song ended, we all hugged and prepared for what was an amazing show.

I use music not only to calm me down, but to connect with others. This past summer I attended the Seminar for Tomorrow’s Leaders: a weeklong camp of leadership training. During the week, I befriended Bam, a 6’4” football player from Miami. We met in the dining hall and immediately bonded over sports and music. We commiserated over our shared lack of vocal skills. As a child, Bam sang constantly but stopped because people complained that his voice was horrible. I understood. Later that week when the other delegates started singing in the dining hall, I coerced Bam into joining. What? He had one of the best voices I had ever heard! Seriously– his voice sounded like a combination of Stevie Wonder and an angel. After our table’s exuberant reaction, we convinced him to sing in the camp talent show. Bam earned a standing ovation. On the last day of camp, he pressed a metal spoon into my hand. Tears in his eyes, he told me that he wanted to give it to me because I had given him new confidence. The spoon now rests on my bookshelf, reminding me of how little actions can change people’s lives.

Music has helped me lift people up, calm myself down, and reach out to others. My singing, though painful to others, has shaped me into who I am today. It does more good than harm. If you don’t like it, then you don’t have to listen. I’m going to sing anyway.

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So here’s to the class of 2020, the most talented, hardworking, and resilient group of girls I know. I hope you find your happiest self and don’t hate me for sharing this throwback. Happy graduation, we did it.