My Motor of Life
The little girl came out to the door of her house; she was running and screaming at the top of her lungs for her aunt. Her untied shoes almost made her trip; she was wearing a little green dress. It was almost five o’clock in the afternoon and the little girl was only eight years old. She arrived to the front door exhausted but with enough energy to keep screaming out for her aunt.
There they were, aunt and niece, both looking at each other.
The little girl’s grandmother could hear the pleadings of her grandchild; she could hear her grandchild asking and begging her aunt to please stay with her, begging her to not leave. Her aunt with, damp eyes, with tears streaming down her face was unable to say ‘yes,’ yet she gained strength and cheered up her niece, who was crying. She approached her and gave her a kiss on the forehead and told her she loved her.
The aunt turned around and got on the red taxi that was waiting for her. The little girl paralyzed with grief, did not know why her aunt was going away from her. Her grandmother hugged her and took her inside the house. The girl did not understand what had just happened; she did not understand why her aunt was no longer at her side. She saw her favorite doll and started to play with it. In a few minutes, she was smiling again, forgetful of that moment, that farewell to her aunt.
That little girl was me. I have remembered that moment for many years. My aunt, Elizabeth, did not go away because she wanted to: she was studying to be a midwife and, in Peru, it is mandatory to do community service in the poorer cities of the country for two years before receiving the official doctorate degree.
When I was eight I could not understand why my aunt had left me: I wanted her to stay with me, but she could not. I grew up with that memory in mind and one day I asked her if she remembered the story I just told. Nonchalantly she smiled and said ‘yes,’ and she continued on to explain the situation that she had gone through.
It was at that moment that I comprehended the situation and stopped to think about it. I remembered that I only saw my aunt twice a year so I asked her again how she felt being away from her family? Did her heart hurt from this? As soon as I finished asking her those questions, I saw the expression of her face change for the briefest of moments. She said that it was difficult but that there was no another option. In life, you have to give something up in order to gain what you want. With that in mind, I wondered if I could ever be able to do that. It appears impossible to do that; only the emotionally strong could survive that type of sacrifice.
That conversation replayed in my head; every time it was much stronger, more frequent. I started to look for similar situations in my family circle; the circle became broader and began to grab at my parents, my parent’s friends, my older cousins and the society in which I lived in.
It was recently that I discovered this little motor that leads everyone to react in this same way. To that small motor, I gave the name of “The Desire of Accomplishment.” That desire not only occupied a space inside of my aunt, but also inside of each member of my family. Even I had this desire which began to flourish in me and grow as the days passed by. I not only analyzed the experience of my aunt but I started to analyze the people closest to me. My parents and I got closer when I found out this feeling was growing deep inside of me.
Because I did not have my aunt near me, I started searching for that feeling in the people who were close to me: my parents. I began to analyze the decisions that they have taken throughout their life. The most comparable decision that I could relate to the experience of aunt (which created this whirlwind of thoughts in my mind) was their decision to immigrate to the United States. This decision completely changed their lives as well as the lives of their daughters. From there, I started to work on the most important and difficult analysis I had ever faced.
I do not know why this desire is so important to me. Maybe there is a small amount of people who think about the same subject. Or, perhaps, I am the only one. But, when I realized that my aunt was not the only one who had been influenced by this motor, it began to call more attention to and it finally captivated me completely and ensnared me with its chains; it transformed me to an addicted prisoner of itself when I discovered that at my young age I was already being influenced by it. I got involved and was unwillingly dragged into this vicious cycle of searching reasons why I was being influenced; whether this influence was a good or bad thing; if I could escape from it when I wanted.
I wanted to discover more about these feelings: I wanted to become an expert in the subject and not just one another victim. I do not know where to start to analyze myself. I could not find the moment where this desire had influenced me the most in my life. So I started by the most significant and greatest moment in my life, the moment that not only changed my life but the lives of my family: our immigration to the United States.
I wanted to begin from this moment because it was not until then when I became more responsible and independent from my family. Being alone in my house with just the company of my sister, I was forced to grow and mature quickly; I stopped being the little girl who was always protected by all her family, the family which was always cared for her. I started to analyze myself and in my analysis I realized a new situation, as well as my feelings and those of parents, the ones responsible for this decision.
When we came to this country we left most of our family behind in our homeland. It was hard at first and I could not comprehend why my parents wanted to start a life without their family around. I saw “The Desire of Accomplishment” conquering them and encouraging them to go from one job to another to another where the salary was higher. The more money they had in their pockets the happier they were. But, when it was a birthday, wedding or baptism of someone close to the family, the money was not enough to restore their joy; they knew they would never recover and live that moment. What they were willing to lose to give me a better future made me feel proud of them but, at the same time, I felt culpable for being the biggest reason for those decisions. I felt guilty but, simultaneously, I felt that I was another motor in the life of my parents. Realizing this, a new surge of guilt to decrease but it was not strong enough to make it disappear.
After seeing the sacrifices of my parents, I started to look for my own sacrifices inside of me. Not being with my family and not being able to enjoy the birthdays, fights and the birth of the new members of the family sowed a feeling of gloominess in my heart. I could not avoid that feeling but I realized that it was not a voluntary sacrifice. My parents brought me to the United States when I was a teenager and I could not question the decision of my parents. They took the decision for me so I could not count that as a voluntary nor a true personal sacrifice. I was looking for something I had caused, something I had begun. I started to look to other ways, ways in which I had the “reins of the horse”, which turned out to be my life as a student.
I started to recall the days I have to stay up until dawn to finish a project. I started to bring to my mind the parties I missed and the dinners which I could not attend because I had to study. When I had an exam I would usually stay up late studying. I do not like having a ‘B’ in my courses when I know I can get an ‘A.’ Here is where the motor plays a vital role to keep driving me forward: it is in this aspect of my life is where the motor can be easily seen and found. I know it is normal to sacrifice free time when it comes down to studying and preparing for exams. That’s understandable. What I am furious about is that I missed the birthday dinner of my best friend. That was when I started to question myself about the motor: was it my ally or my enemy? After that, I became more cautious and commenced to try to not be dragged down by that desire again.
Since that moment I began to see the motor from another perspective. I began to see it as an encouraging friend but, at the same time, as the enemy who may lead me to my own destruction. If I let the motor of life control my life completely I will be a human being manipulated by desire, a marionette of a desire. If that were to happen I would have failed as person. If at this stage of my life I miss the most important and significant events for me, then what can I expect from my future? Will I stop caring about others and walk over them without helping them? No! I will not let that ever happen, that is not me. I will let “The Desire of Accomplishment” influence me only on the more positive aspects. It is thank to this little motor that I am where I am now, I will let it influence me but the big difference is that I will cease it when it is about to control my life. I am unwilling to lose the most important things in my life in order to gain the satisfaction of being someone, someone who may end up alone and regretting decisions in her life.
However, the motor of this machine is needed to progress; it is what the world needs to move forward, to keep evolving. We can not see these motors as a plague that must be pushed away from us. I will not push it away from me, I will only limit this desire and keep it locked down with a key, a key that only I can I find. If I keep living my life careful of my feelings, I will have a successful life and without regrets. I want to enjoy my life; I do not want to be controlled by “The Desire of Accomplishment.” I know I will have to keep giving things up in my future but I will think twice before doing so. I will refuse and fight to not to lose what is significant for me. I do not want to put at risk what I consider and feel that is important in my life, and then realize in the end, at my miserable end, that everything I gave up to achieve my goals was not worthy. I want to be able to feel accomplished because I was successful academically and as a person.
