Kayleen Tabil
Professor Berney
English 101
1/17/2012

I stare at the enormous chunk of clay lying before me and picture the beautiful art piece waiting to be born. The emanating earthy aroma wafts through my nostrils and I instantly feel at home. No matter the ongoing distractions surrounding me, I’m immediately enveloped in a world where it’s just me and the clay. As the hindering weight of the stress lying on my shoulders starts to melt away, a sense of peacefulness overtakes me and replenishes my whole being. The soft, slimy, squishy clay covers every inch of my hand, as I roll out long snake like coils of the same thickness to build my art piece. I being to see the reflection of myself through my pottery, and become quickly engrossed with seeing the actual finished product. The simplicity of the tools I use for design such as cookie cutters and buttons and the various vibrant colors of the glazes spark my creative personality. From weak, wet clay into a strong, durable, crystalline glasslike form. It’s a gloomy Saturday morning in spring as the grey clouds linger above. I wake up to my mom telling me my grandfather in the Philippines has passed away. Instantly, I am overtaken with emotions as I realize that a rock to our family, though miles and miles away, is gone. Honestly, my emotions run wild, confused, since I have never actually faced the death of a loved one. Death has always laid in my mind as something dark and unknown. I sit in my bed still grappling with the news, as the phone continually rings with my aunts and uncles sharing the known news. It is 11 am and I see my dad pull in the driveway his eyes say it all as he walks sullen, eyes swelling with tears, as he heads to our front porch. That is when I know he has already met the unfortunate news of the passing of his father, that the man who guided him in his path to maturity is gone. I peer out the window and suddenly see his shoulders shrink and he shakes as tears stream down his face. It hurts to see someone you love cry and grieve because you want with all your heart to let them know that everything will be fine, even though you do not know what is going to happen as well. As the family gathers in my home, in preparation for my dad and my uncles nearing departure to the airport so they can fly to the Philippines to be with their dad, our family reminisces about the memories we have had with our grandpa. However, my memories are much smaller of my grandpa than my cousins are, I knew that though small, they were always something to cherish and remember. Such as the time he would embrace my sister and I each night before bedtime. Despite, the language barriers we had, love is a universal language, and I know that was something my sister and I shared with our grandpa and something we could all understand. Though death is a painful moment in life since we lose the one’s we care the most, I realize that when you have family like mine who love unconditionally, darkness can be transformed to hope. It is a dark Tuesday night, as my family helps my dad and uncles put their luggage in the car, I stand aside my mom and sister as we watch our dad prepare to leave. We hug, say our goodbyes, and smile as my dad enters into the car wishing him a safe trip. As he and my uncles drive away, though my heartaches knowing my beloved grandpa is gone, I find solace and comfort knowing that our family’s love is what is able to overcome the darkness. As we walk outside I’m instantly met with the hot, humid summer air of the Philippines which leaves my clothes clinging to my skin. The thick air forces me to take labored breaths. I see a huge crowd of people smiling, yelling, and waving as they search for their loved ones. Looking for our family, we finally see our aunt waving at us with her large while towel. Hugging each other, we then head out in search of the rest of our family. Excitement and joy shows on our faces as we see family members who we haven’t seen in four long years. After hours of sitting in a scorching hot jeep cramped with about ten family members, with no cushioned seats, no seat belts, or water we finally make it to our aunts house. In the darkness of the night, I smell the burning of garbage and hear the music and rides coming from the plaza in the distance. Opening up our many boxes, we begin to distribute the various gifts we have brought. Towels, soap, candy, coffee, and clothes. Seeing their wide smiles and the happiness sparkling in their eyes is something I will always cherish. It is a typical winter day, dreary and cold. The phone suddenly rings; I snap out of my usual daze and run towards the phone somewhat lethargic. Suddenly I hear the panic of my mom’s voice telling me she is going to be rushed to the hospital. I immediately remember how her voice quivered with fear and apprehension, but I could tell that she tried to diminish my worries as she tries to comfort me by saying that everything will be okay. My dad, sister, and I head towards the hospital and all that runs through my mind is “will mom be okay,” and “is this serious?” The hospital doors slide open, the intercom is abuzz with alerts, while nurses pace back and forth in all directions. The hospital has always been an eerie place for me. As we are directed to the area where my mom is in, I run to her side to embrace her, and assure her that she will get through this, even though uncertainty also rests on my shoulders. I find it comforting to know that during this nerve-wracking time, my family has never left our side. Getting into the car my palms quench and get clammy with nerves. I see my mom and sister as they watch from the window as I am about to take another step towards independence; receiving my driver’s license. As I see the driving instructor head towards my car, I try to catch my breath, as my heart starts to race. We greet each other but very soon, the environment turns professional, routine, and somewhat impersonal. He begins by telling me to show my hand signals which I complete successfully without a hitch. Then the test begins…DRIVING. I start to drive in a cautious manner as I head towards the long orange cones to perform parallel parking. As he tells me to complete this move, I hesitate for a minute, then instantly do what I’ve been practicing for, which is checking my mirrors, backing up, moving forward, and just simply working my way into the four cones without hitting the curb. As I make my right turn and head towards the last move during the test, which is backing around the curb, my heart starts to thump. With ease, I back around successfully and head towards the parking lot with both hands steady on the steering wheel. As he jots down his notes, my mind can no longer wait to hear the results. Turning to me, he talks about what I did well on and what I need to improve upon. I find it hard to stare into his eyes and listen since my only focus is knowing the results. Then he says 92, and instantly I know I have passed and am set to cruise the roads, windows rolled down, and music blaring loudly. Though he tells me my score, I still tentatively ask if I passed just for reassurance. I scramble towards my mom and sister and we rejoice to the news. The DMV is completely packed, but that doesn’t hold me back in my happiness. After my photo is printed and my temporary license is completed, my mom lets me take the keys which I take with joy and nerves. I’m 17, young, and ready to pave my road in life. It is a typical day in the Philippines, boiling hot and people abuzz in the city of Manila where motorcycles zip away and pedestrians walk close together, as they try to escape the suns boiling rays. Cooped in a small old looking white van, my sister and I giggle with our cousins while our parents sit with the adults as we make our way to the airport to head back to Washington. Dreading this day after a wonderful one-month vacation, I glance at all the faces and try to capture the last moments we have together, realizing that it will be awhile until we reunite again. It is amazing how time flies by when you are having fun. It only seemed like yesterday that I held hands with my cousins giggling in the street fair as we munched on goodies and waited for our turn to ride the Ferris wheel. It seemed like yesterday, when we visited my dad’s family in their small town and handed them gifts which they received with happiness and praise. Lastly, it seemed like yesterday when I played with my cousins out in the front yard of my aunt’s house, an intense yet fun game of badminton, where our laughter’s and screams echoed in the street. My mind snaps back to reality, and I realize it is not yesterday but it is today, it’s time to say the dreaded good byes and leave what to me is a country of paradise. As we eat our last home cooked Filipino meal outside the parking lot of the airport, my stomach churns that it will be not be just months but years until I see my family again. As the van makes its way towards the front of the airport, I hear my young cousin cry as she too senses that our time together is about to be over. We get out of the car, give our hugs, and promise one another that we will keep in touch and comeback eventually. I try to hide my tears as I help my mom, dad, and sister, carry our luggage but the sadness is unbearable to control. We wave our final waves as we turn to head to the airport, as I look over my shoulder once more to see my family in their van as they prepare back to head towards the providence, I see my cousin waving goodbye as tears envelope her face.