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All of my life I have been wondering what my purpose is in life. I think this true of everyone at one time or another. I think more of it now than ever before, as I am finishing college. I am afraid of not knowing that beneath this flesh and blood lies a dormant dragon full of creativity and vigor. Perhaps as I age, I will lose this cosmic dread and come to an understanding of sorts.
As I explored this innate issue, I�ve found more questions than answers. When I was six, life was wonderful. I had not the slightest worries about accomplishing anything. Happiness was defined by the newest transformer or GI-Joe. Those were the days. And more than likely, I will use that phrase about my college experiences when I get into the workforce. Such thought is my quiet wish. As for now, it seems that I am lost in a universal lapse of uncertainty and young adulthood. Uncertainty on itself creates a belief and so I�d often find myself praying to a higher power who I admired. I had hitherto felt that I deserved some guidance for being a decent human being. Yet, it seems God does not play favorites. I feel I have a purpose and I�ve searched for it. And sometimes, I think it�s merely opening my eyes, but I haven�t the slightest clue.
The throes of life are unpredictable. Even the greatest love affairs have no guarantee of lasting. Everything seems transient, though we hold on to things and people who aren�t really there. When we leave this world we take with us, perhaps, only experience. But even death is a mystery. And so I long to be that innocent child who is egocentric and has no vantage point from which he can analyze himself. That pre-conventional stage of life redeems us from guilt and failure. It is peace of mind. Yet, if failure is accepted, it becomes a catalyst for growth, which is contrary to the expectations and pressures of success.
However, I cannot dispel this feeling of what I am and who I shall become. Is it my lack of faith in a divine source? Or is it fear of inconsistency in my beliefs? Though, I admired the woes of fulfillment from religious sects, I fear jumping unto the bandwagon with only blind faith. I had once been catholic as a contingency for me and my family to come to the United States. In retrospect, I bathed in its glory and swallowed its prejudice from the same people who attended that church. As I�ve gotten older, my involvement with the church became less and less until there was none. However, I know that the sanctity of the church draws people in so that the light of each individual can shine in a conglomerate hodgepodge of spirituality. Even though I do not worship in a church, the place I go to is the one that I�ve created inside myself, although it is true that there are strength in numbers when people come together. And there is no judgment from God, since I am my own greatest judge. I�ve also realized that �in the name of God,� there have been more wars than all other world wars combined. But as the mirror smiles back at me, I have to question whether or not I have become a miser lost in the confusion of a resurging new age agnosticism.
Perhaps confusion, itself, is a process and only when the sands fill the bottom of the hourglass would I know the answers to my inquiries. However, the state of not knowing creates unrelenting guises that block daily life and invade the subconscious in the arms of sleep. Such stresses either make me old before my time or perhaps wise beyond my age. I prefer the latter.
My grandmother always told me that dreams are what we make of it; therefore, it seems I would not fall short. However, life has its ways of challenging us to live and to survive. Its road branches a thousand fold with detours and speed bumps. Sometimes I think that it is easier to take a short cut by going off the road and taking a nontraditional path by floating down the stream that flows by. On that sun-beaten water path, I can dream big and make my dreams become the summation that is me. And that may be my place in this world, to be a spark of inspiration so others may succeed. I would never �fail� if my heart convinced me so, but in my mind, the world demands only the tangibles. It speaks of desires and wants and seeks a psychological reward. Such weakness is my frailty and makes me human.
I wonder what went through my parents� minds when they were my age. Did they fear the uncertainties of their futures? Yet, comparisons are odious since their world was vastly different from mine. They were caught in a country torn by the politics of super powers. Father was recruited under the direction of the CIA to fight in a conflict which would be known as the Vietnam War. Perhaps his thoughts at that time was how to survive until the next day. He fought against the Viet Cong in a cause that he could not understand. And so the stories were told over and over again.
Father married mother in their early twenties. They lived high in the mountains of Laos and farmed day after day until he was recruited. He found himself collecting intelligence and engaging in search and destroy missions. Father spoke about the human condition and its capacity to create such horrors. And then the war ended and they were left at the mercy of the North Vietnamese government.
Like thousands who helped the United States, their war had just begun. The Viet Cong began to target those who fought against them. A long road to freedom began for my parents and grandparents. On a moonless night, father and a few other families left their village in the mountains of Laos for the refugee camps in Thailand. They gathered what food they could and made their way into the dense jungle. They did not carry any light to guide their way for fear that they would be seen. To make matters worse, it was the monsoon season. In my father�s eyes, it was the safest time to travel since the enemy would be indoors. He spoke about how children were given opium so they would be quiet. Some died from its poisons. In some cases the elderly who could not continue on were left behind with some rice and a weapon. Other families turned back to the village. The trail of tears for my people would last for generations following the end of the Vietnam War.
Somehow, my parents found the courage to continue. Father taught me the lessons of life using his experiences as examples.
�Always be kind to others; the heavens will see and know what you did,� he says.
The journey continued until they reached a hill. Mother and grandmother could not make it over the hill. It was too slippery from the rain. Mother was also pregnant with me. And no matter how hard they tried, they always slipped back to the bottom. Father could not help them since he was carrying grandfather and the food. Even friends turned the other way. Yet, in the most desperate time a stranger reached his hands forward and pulled mother and grandmother to the top of the hill. To this day, that kind act has never been forgotten. That stranger in the night has my parents� blessings for helping them although he may never realize the importance of his actions.
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