“So, I told you to shut up and you did?” My dad yelled, paying little mind to the fact that we were at the airport. It had become routine to be scolded publicly by my dad, who raised me with an iron hand. I couldn’t blame him, I was pretty exasperating as a child, since I frequently broke things and could never settle down.
“You were trying to remind me, why didn't you say it straight?” my dad said angrily, and I imagined my mum being there, what she’d say or do. Not any more lenient than my dad, my mum was, at the very least, understanding. The last time I saw her is etched in my memory as the worst day of my life. The day I realized that tears ran from an endless well of grief. It isn’t so much a distant memory to me. I can remember my sheer helplessness whilst crying, as the neighbours rushed to rescue my mum, sister, and aunt from our home engulfed in flames. It was a turning point in my life, as it brought out the hidden melancholy in my sanguine nature. Many times, I’d blame myself for not being there. It changed me, but it gave me ‘my first ambition.’
For years, I was in a state of denial. I wanted, so much, to change what had happened. I was going to build a time machine! I commenced my first self-project at age nine with nothing but my toxic motivation, in the form of denial. I researched Einstein’s contributions and modelled Edison’s perseverance; despite being a 5th grader, the effort made me advance far ahead of my level in maths and physical sciences. This gave me a major advantage in STEM-related subjects during my middle and high school years. During this period, I cultivated my Extreme Ambition: all my life afterwards, I’ve aimed so high that even by failing, I’d have gained something. By shooting for the moon, even if I’d miss, I’d fall among the stars.
My dad had run out of words to scold me with and there was a deafening silence between us as we boarded the plane. Furthermore, there was an error and we were assigned seats apart which was good. Time always healed tension between my dad, who is prone to act on immediate emotion, and I.
I got a window seat and as we took off, I glanced once more at my country, the only home I’d ever known. My glance extended to a stare and I struggled to think of a justifiable reason for my departure in an attempt to clear my conscience. I thought of those who came first in competitions I was second in, and those who hit a bullseye on the moon whilst I fell among the stars. I wondered why I left when they stayed, and in a steadying moment of clarity, I realized why I was on that plane. it came back to me why I was on my way to a foreign land, and why I was leaving all that I loved: to achieve something greater. An outstanding education was my moon, and this was me taking my shot. I couldn’t control their decisions, but I could control mine, and I decided: I was leaving to succeed, to make sure no one from my country ever has to leave their home in order to achieve greatness again.
I think back to that day and now remember why I stopped working on my time machine: If I could change anything in the past, I wouldn’t change a second; because every part of it made me who I am today and continues to make who I become tomorrow.