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Simply Existing

By , kensington, NH
Author's note: I wrote this piece because I wanted to show people that even in the darkest of times, you can...  Show full author's note »
Author's note:

I wrote this piece because I wanted to show people that even in the darkest of times, you can always get back up and give it another chance. I want to show people not to give up so easily and learn that life is hard and it always will be, but if you have the motivation to keep trying, great things will be accomplished and you can be as successful as you wish. 

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My younger years

“It’s a girl.” Those were the first words that were spoken to me when I came out of my mother’s womb after 9 long months. I, Ana Xiomara Mazariegos Gomez, was born on April 23rd, 2002 at 1:31AM in Guatemala City, weighing a mere 5 pounds, 4 oz. A tiny baby I was. That was the beginning.
Today I am 5 feet exact. Big brown eyes, so dark they could be mistaken for black. I have short, dark colored, stick straight hair. A dark brown, as in the color of coffee. I’m not the skinniest, but average. I have some curves that make me somewhat bigger than other girls, but not by much.  I have smooth, silky mocha colored skin and long toned legs.
2 days later I was put up for adoption. I was adopted on October 31st, 2002. My parents had originally come up with a new name for me, but it was too complicated to pronounce, so my name stayed the same, but my middle name became Nuket, and my last name changed to Satir.
I personally liked the Spanish in my name because it seemed more intriguing, but I don't mind Ana Nuket Satir. It's more complex and much easier to spell and say. Unfortunately I'm rarely called by my first name; when I was 2 years old I was given the nickname “Nunu” short for Nuket. Which I am still being called this day.
I remember when I was only 6 years old and my father called me Nuket in his thick Turkish accent, because that was the first time I got in trouble and I was called by my middle name. Odd isn't it? Wouldn't parents call you by your first, middle, and last name? I've never quite understood that but I've just grown used to it over the years. But I had gotten in trouble. And I remember cutting my sisters hair and giving her extremely uneven bangs. I lost my scissors for a week. After that I began getting into more trouble doing mischievous things and the more I heard “Nuket” or “Nunu”, the less appealing it became. So I began to only respond to people who called me by my proper name, not my middle name. I eventually gave up, and I still deal with the nicknames, but nowadays I just ignore them.
I started going to school shortly after that incident. The first lesson I learned was to never cut anything besides paper. I also learned so many simple yet valuable lessons that I wish I had paid more attention to in the near future. But before getting to that, I’m going to go back to the beginning. Well of school.
I can still somewhat remember what 1st-5th grade were like. In first grade I had one friend. We were inseparable. Everything we did, we always did together. Two peas in a pod. You never only got one of us, you got both. He was the one to defend me when people began bullying me, and asking about the color of my skin. And thinking back on it now, it’s sad to see how little I was, and getting bullied in 1st grade. I still have race issues and people emotionally hurting me now. But I always had Jack who would stick by me. Until 4th grade at least. But I’m getting ahead lot myself. 3rd grade was one of the worst years. I remember so many of the kids in my class had made fun of me for being adopted, saying that I wasn’t loved or good enough for my biological parents, and that my birth mother never loved me so instead left me. I was called Dora and Brownie due to the color of my skin. The boys always had to make fun of the colored girl; I never truly let it get to me until 5th grade.
I was approached by a white girl, brown hair, blue eyes, and for the first time in my life I was called a n*****. I didn’t know what it  meant, she laughed at me while I was lost in a pool of confusion.  I never knew how to react to that so I didn't pay attention to her for the remainder of the year.
And although I was able to ignore that one girl, I couldn’t ignore 10 or so others. Constantly bringing up my adoption and making snide comments that I unfortunately let get to me. I began to believe that I wasn’t good enough, and that I was an accident, that I wasn’t supposed to be here, I was some drunken mistake that went too far. It broke me. Hearing that I was so worthless, my parents didn’t even want me. I felt shameless, I felt like I had no purpose.  My self esteem dropped tremendously. I often cried at just the thought of my parents not loving me. I started thinking of the different things that could have happened. Each worse than the last. I was convinced that I wasn’t planned, and when my biological father found out, he left. And my mother didn’t want me, so she abandoned me. My mother told me that she only held me once. After I was born, she held me in her arms for what was probably only 10 seconds, before handing me to a nurse. That was the first and last time that she would ever see me. My conclusion cost me my happiness. It ruined the rest of my elementary experience. I was always self conscious, and would drag my mother into my problems, venting to her about how awful I felt at the very thought of my biological mother leaving me. I didn’t realize at the time that it must have been so painful for her to hear her daughter mourn over her birth parents. I feel remorseful about that now, and I couldn’t be happier with how things turned out for me, but back then, I wasn’t as positive about the situation as a whole. I focused on all of the negatives instead of the positives which would eventually cause me so many problems down the road.
I didn't do poorly academic wise. But socially, I was a wreck. By far though, I think that my elementary days were better than may junior high days. Which brings me to middle school. Which quite frankly is somewhat sad considering my elementary days were rough as well.
My first year of middle school was mainly me trying to figure out how the next 3 years of my life will go, and where everything will take me. Mom told me to be myself and I won't be judged. “Nunu, if you want to cut your hair then do so, the people who stick by you are the ones that matter.” I wanted so badly to cut my hair because I thought it would be much prettier than my boring black hair. I thought that cutting my hair would make me more me and I thought I'd be accepted. I couldn't have been more wrong. When I was sitting in the chair at the hairdressers, my  palms were sweaty, I was more nervous than I’d ever been, waiting for her to chop it all off. Then it happened. I heard a snip followed by a whoosh, the first strands of my hair were gone. After that I knew that there was no going back.
     I remember in 7th grade I was bullied for being different, called a lesbian, weird, and downright ugly. It was by far the worst year of school for me. And it made me suddenly dread going to school to face the judgmental people who had nothing better to do. I hated how everyone who I thought were by my side ended up leaving me to face the cruel people alone. The rest of my year dragged on and on making me hate school even more than I already did. Girls would purposefully attempt to me me look bad, in which they succeeded.
I never was noticed by anyone including my friends, I was often left out and it felt like I was invisible. I hated it. I longed to be someone rather than no one. I decided to change myself completely and by my eighth grade year I would be different and I wouldn't be judged, I would be liked and have more friends than before. That was the last thing I thought to myself as I walked out of the school.
“She looks so different, what happened to her braces? And hair? Is she wearing makeup?” Those are just a few things I heard from people, because I stuck with my plan to change my appearance in 7th grade, in which I did. I was no longer the heavy girl with uneven black hair and braces that got me bullied all through middle school. I lost weight, I started shopping at brand name stores, my hair had grown out becoming naturally wavy, and my thick black hair become a lighter brown with caramel highlights.  I also took an interest in makeup, which changed my life. I realized then that I was going through the stages of becoming a young lady. I still had my flaws though, which people would remind me of, and still do. But my eighth grade year was better than expected. I thought that 9th grade would be even better, until a turn of events changed everything.

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