I am a “4 dimensional person,” or so my parents say. I tend to think differently than others; I am more emotional and sometimes inconsistent in my behavior. I’m just now starting to admit that I’m not great at acknowledging my faults and wrongdoings. I’m usually random and people say that I can be amusingly unconventional at times -- for example, I puzzle my friends when I don’t know an obvious answer, but then know the answer to something extremely difficult. Sometimes people call me “lively,” which is a nice way of interpreting my excessive personality.

I don’t mind it. When I was younger, nobody would have called me lively. I was a pessimist. I would dread everything, even little things like my brother drinking from my cup. I used to be paranoid of diseases, and so I’d think of all the germs and the bacteria moving from his mouth to my cup. However, it wasn’t just little things; I had some legitimate reasons to be angry. I was bullied at school for not being able to speak English. Although my attackers were merely teasing me, if I was in a bad mood, I would push or shove them. Even though I never hurt anyone, my parents, especially my mom, were afraid that I had a personality disorder, which only further enraged me.

Back in my old home, there was a window right next to the kitchen table. Whenever I felt frustrated, I would climb on top of the table and open the window and climb out. The window led to the roof of the house, and I would sit on the roof. It was the windy season of the year, fall, and I’d sit on the peak of the roof in my pajamas, shivering. The cold air cleared my mind, and the view was magnificent, especially for a seven-year old kid like I was. It was dangerous, but it soon became a routine. Being on the roof always calmed me, and I began to show a little more self-control in my daily life. Soon, just opening the window was enough to make me feel calm again. By the time my mom found out, I hardly even went up there anymore. Nevertheless, the roof was a very important place for me. Even now, I think of it when I’m upset.


When I got older, I learned how to draw heights as well. In regular life, we only see things from ground level. But pictures made at ground level are dull. Drawing from a sky-view perspective illustrates the surface of the buildings or hills in a much more dramatic and interesting way, which is usually more effective. The reason, I learned, is that drawing from a sky view involves something called perspective – seeing the same things from different angles. Using shading and angles, you can really make something look 3-dimensional -- even something as simple as a cup becomes entirely different when you look at it from above: a smaller circle (the base of the cup) inside the larger circle (the top rim of the cup).

Drawing with perspective taught me to notice things I hadn’t seen before, like imperfections that allow us to see the curve or shape of an object. I also realized that perspective is the reason I liked being high up in the first place. I like seeing things from a different view, removed enough to see not just one person or one part of a room, but a whole plane. Even being unable to see the details can be a good thing, as long as it’s not permanent. From high up, it’s easy to see how insignificant my anger was and how I fit into a bigger panorama.

Some people find that perspective uncomfortable. My mom, for instance, doesn’t like being up high. My dad isn’t necessarily afraid of heights, but he doesn’t understand my passion for them. My parents would fit right in with the crowds of people whom I see every day on the streets, and I suppose my older brother is one of the many tiny teenagers who tend to hang out in restaurants or cafes. They prefer the ground where they can interact with others. I like watching crowds because I like seeing people of all ages going the same way, but for different purposes. Not just physically, but emotionally, all of these people have different destinations and goals. From my high perch I get a glimpse of how diverse and vast the world is.

I may be taking after my parents, because lately I’ve realized that there are some kinds of heights I actually don’t like. I don’t like the confined kind of heights you experience on airplanes, and I don’t like the wild kind, either -- skydiving or BASE jumping would overwhelm my senses and not give me the sense of peace I crave. Instead, hot air balloon rides and the moments when you float downwards gently, suspended from a parachute, would be the kinds of activities that I prefer -- the kind that let you think instead of distracting you. I’m not looking for the excitement of falling, but for the peace of looking downwards, and being able to see people who can’t see me.

Another reason that I like to be high up is that I enjoy the isolation, and the temporary break from having to feel self-conscious. It’s a deeper isolation than just going into a room by yourself; you’re out in the open, in plain sight, but nobody can interrupt your thoughts. Although it would be lonely if I didn’t have the option of coming down, for short periods, being up high is liberating. I’ve always fantasized about living in a rooftop greenhouse or in an apartment that has a whole wall of glass. My mother would hate it; she’d prefer a house safe on the ground, but maybe this will happen when I’m older. I wouldn’t mind living there alone. After all, being up high has already taught me so much. Once I have my own place, high in the sky, I might learn even more.

In a way, my alone time is what helped me break out my shell. When I was younger, all I wanted was for everyone to just leave me alone, but since I discovered the roof, I’ve discovered that after I take a short break to recharge, I can actually be quite social and upbeat, because after clearing my mind, I’m ready to interact with people. I’ve learned to see the broader perspective, control my own emotions, and clear my mind of distractions when I need to think about something. Sometimes, however, I wonder how useful it is for me to gain this perspective all by myself. One person with a little perspective doesn’t make that much of a difference. It may be time to come down and share some of this stuff.