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I would say that I grew up with a loving family. From where I came from, culturally, public displays of attention is taboo. However, deep down inside you just have to know that they love you. All my siblings and my parents love me. Being the youngest, I suppose was a privilege. I got what I wanted every time. But I am the timid one. I wasn’t always timid. I was quite a ham until…

I don’t exactly know why I turned timid. I still ask myself that question to this day. I have a few memories of things that may have affected my sense of confidence. Nothing that I can put my fingers on but one of them could be the time I finished an art project I made in first grade. I was so proud of it! I can’t remember exactly if it was a sculpture or a painting yet my mom praised me up and down. She mentioned to my dad with pride in her voice that ’This one is going to be an artist.’ I overheard my dad say, ‘What would an artist feed his children with? It’s not a career, it’s a hobby!’ Never mind that my dad was thinking of my future. Never mind that he said that out loud in front of me. But, I was only eight years old. I didn’t know the difference.

All I wanted to hear was that I did a good job or that I have talent. I wanted to hear that the work of my hands created something beautiful. Yet I didn’t. It is so hard to express the hurt and embarassment I felt at that time. I couldn’t even put it into words. I was a child. After that, I never wanted to show my dad anything that I created. I kept it to myself and my mom. I was afraid that he would only mock me again and I didn’t want to feel that pain again.

To be continued…

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