Narrative

Faryal Hussain Final draft Murphy ENC1101 8 am July 24th 2010 To give is better than to receive That evening when I came home to find my mother drenched in a bucket of salty tears, huddled in the corner of the bottom bunk, an immense uncertainty possessed me. Every tear drop of hers glared a shine of my face as I stood in awe observing how susceptible my mother had become. The smell of my grandmother’s favorite bottle of perfume, “Opium” lingered upon my mother. With a confused face I come to find my mother grasping on the bottle with dear life, as if it were the last she had of her own mother’s memory. The one support of my life, the strong root to my tree, the woman I’ve never seen so weak, was struggling to sit up right when I walked in. Her eyes were red as if hundreds and thousands of chili peppers were gulped down at one time, bloodshot with a feeling of terror and despicable thoughts accumulating in her head. You see, even in the hardest times of our lives, my mother always managed to bring everything together so that my life didn’t seem so different or peculiar compared to others. It turned out that my grandmother had passed away at the age of 68, a patient with a newly installed pace maker, died of a heart attack. The sound of her nose running and hiccups of tears trying to be held back screeched through her throat. The uncontrollable push of cries wanting to come out her was presented upon her face. My mother’s pleading cries just imitate what her heart felt inside. The emotion of feeling helpless surrounded my body, watching my own DNA, my own mother plop herself in the corner of a room, as an ostrich digs its head underground when feeling threatened. She clung on to my body like a child and trembled, “You have to become a surgeon so that people like your grandmother can have an opportunity to survive, so you can support yourself and your family to measures beyond food stamps and thrift shops. So that you can be there when your father needs you the most and provide him with the full commodities he desperately needs.” You see, my father also suffers from a heart related disease, but cannot afford to get cured. Up until that day being a surgeon was merely a dream, an unreachable goal, but the quick nudge from my mother made me believe that my dream could be a reality. As a student, I make decisions every day. Although it seems that some aren’t as valuable as others, in the long run, each and every decision made then piles up to a larger product. I aspire to become a surgeon one day, not simply because it is a dream of the woman who sacrificed her personal needs to give her daughter the full opportunity to exceed beyond restrictions, but because it is how I wish to contribute my life to society. Like the runner in Ernie Barnes’ painting “ Beach Runner,” I run the race of my life every second of the way, breaking through, awakening every last bit of adrenaline dormant within my body, passing the unknown obstacles, trying to achieve my individual freedom – the part that sets me aside from everyone else. The thought of not achieving my dream caught a taste of fear was on the tip of my tongue, who knew fear could be not only felt, but tasted. It was as if my throat was suctioned in by a vacuum cleaner and no words being able to come out my mouth. The bitter taste of fear it was, like watching a scary tragedy film before my eyes. The pressure was now on me. The phone rang so I quickly ran over to it hoping my mother didn’t wake up from the high pitched volume. A man with a deep voice answered to my greeting, “Hello, is this Ms. Hussain speaking'” with a quiet tone I questioned who it was and what it is they called for. “My name is Mr. Wilson and I am calling from the medical administration’s office of Harvard University, we looked over your transcripts and essay’s, and were impressed with what you have to offer. We will also be pleased to have your tuition taken care of, along with all the commodities included. Not many students have the aspiration and determination as you do. Therefore, Congratulation’s, you are accepted into Harvard’s Medical Program.” Just then, the phone slid out of my hands and on to the hardwood floor, waking my mother up. She ran to me with a puzzled face as to why I looked like a zombie. I told her, “I did it; I made it in to Harvard, with a full ride scholarship to Harvard.” Although the goal may be precisely confirmed, the paths to achieve it remain infinite. Distractions are guaranteed to arise with in the race, but with a dedicated mind set nothing is impossible to accomplish. Right there, I had hope in life, my mother, and my father finally getting better. My mother hugged me, now mixed with tears of joy and shock. This was a new beginning to our lives. I now see myself, in the future, tending to patients with the gift of healing that I achieved through hard work. I hope to look back into the past and commemorate every step I took towards my brighter future, the future in which I contribute my fullest for myself and my community. “To give is better than to receive.”