Everything I learned in Fifth Grade

A couple of recent events made me think about the human need for validation. Why do we sometimes worry or care about what others might think of us. Why do we feel that we need validation from others? As part of my soul-searching journey, I realize that I have experienced the need for validation throughout my life.

I also have been thinking about my reactions when I observe what I consider an unfair act. I get very upset when I detect signs of unfairness. This happens not only when I perceive unfair actions toward me, but to anyone around me.

I sensed that these thoughts were somewhat connected. I decided to dig deeper into them. I wondered what mysteries could be hidden in my psyche that prompted the need for validation and my fiery reaction against injustice. I wanted to confront my thoughts head on, with honesty. I wanted to expose the good and the ugly. Honesty will lead the way to learning about who I am.

“Not everything that surfaces as part of our soul-searching is pleasant or graceful, but it will have value if it is honest.”

As is always the case, we usually react to what happens around us based on our experiences. Our experiences through life shape our values, our personalities, and our soul. We are not always proud of our actions, but we can always learn from them.

“Unmasking the past is sometimes necessary to be able to move forward, and hopefully, to a better self.”

After much reflection, I realized that I needed to go back to my fifth grade. I knew all along that an important event occurred during my fifth grade. This is not the first time that I think about that day. But giving it some additional deliberation during this journey of self-reflection revealed a lot more that I have ever discovered previously. I saw an inevitable connection between my fifth grade experience and how I have acted every single day after that. Suddenly I found answers to my questions of validation and fairness.

I did very well in school. I was an ‘A’ student from kindergarten to my senior year, where I was the valedictorian of my class. The graduating class was small – 25 students – and most of us have been together since kindergarten. I went to a private school – an all girls school. My parents did not have a lot of money, but they used everything they had to support our education. They worked very hard all their life to give my sister and I everything we needed – their most important gift was the gift of education. My mom was a nurse and my dad was an accountant.

My fifth grade teacher was a big and tall woman with a permanent frown on her face. She used to wear a two-piece grey uniform, consisting of a vest and skirt. The only color in her outfit was the daily changing blouse under the gray vest. But there were no flowers or prints, just solid, muted colors barely noticed against all the gray. For a 10-year old, she was like an ogre in a fairy tale. Everyone was frightened when entering the classroom, quietly sitting in the desks and avoiding any conversation unless asked to speak. No one wanted to get into trouble.

One day, the teacher announced a prize for the best student in class. What happened after the announcement changed me forever. She did not call my name. I knew my grades. I knew that I was the top student in the class, but she called someone else’s name. I was 10 years old. I did not know what to think or what to do. My mind was somewhere between confusion and disbelief. All I remember is that I was hurt. I could not wait to leave school that day. When I arrived home I told my mom. The other student that received the prize was the daughter of one of the school’s board of trustees.

That single experience and my mom’s reaction defined who I am today. My mom was furious. She could not believe that the top student prize was given to someone else. She also knew very well my grades. My mom was not going to stand silent against the injustice and the next day she roared to the school to talk with the principal and the teacher. Until that day, I would have considered my mom a very quiet and calm person. But that day she became a lioness. She was defending her cub and she was fierce. I have not seen my mom behave that way before. But I knew my sister and I were the world for my parents. Everything they did, they did for us. If we were ever in danger they will come to our rescue without question.

I do not remember much about what happened after my mom’s historical visit to the school. I do not know if I also got a prize. I assumed they gave me something else, instead of taking the prize from the other student. I really did not care much about the actual prize because the experience around it was already hurtful. I learned many lessons that eventually morphed into my personality.

“Our experiences define our past but our choices define our future.”

I believe that I have felt the need for validation throughout my life because of my fifth grade experience. Maybe I could have learned a different lesson, or my mom could have explained the situation different. I will always carry this experience within me. But now I understand the roots of where my feelings come from. Shedding light into the past provided an opportunity to understand that the reaction could have been different. As a child, I did not have much of a choice, as the characteristics of my personality were developing through my parent’s eyes. But now I have my own eyes. I can choose how I behave. I can understand that the need for validation might be a human characteristic, but not necessarily needed at all times. I know better. I now have a choice on how I want my experiences to impact my future.

I also learned that day about my mom’s strength and spirit. My absolute refusal to stand silent against injustice derives from observing my mom’s irrefutable devotion to defend her loved one against injustice. I adopted these characteristics from my mom and I am proud of them. Like my mom, I become a lioness when a loved one is in danger. I also feel compelled to stand for fairness in everything that happens around me. It is many times frustrating – life is not always fair – but I never want to quit to stand for what I believe in and to defend others that might need my help. For this passion, I thank my mom.

I wonder…

While walking…

Feelings of anxiety, fear, uneasiness, discomfort.

Based on what’s happening to others that look like me around the country.

I wonder if those feelings of hatred are also around me?

As I walk around my town…

Hatred has been encouraged.

Division is rampant in our country.

I wonder…

Who’s on my side?

What others in the other side think when they see me?

Is my life in danger?

Will I ever know that my life is in danger?

Will I only know that my life was in danger after something happens?

After I don’t have any recourse or anyway of protecting myself?

I wonder…

I don’t want to feel this way.

It’s exhausting to feel this way.

We all have challenges in our lives.

I don’t want this extra burden.

I don’t want to be fearful, anxious, uncomfortable, uneasy.

I don’t want to wonder.

I don’t want to wonder but I don’t think I have been given a choice.

Based on who I am,

I’ve been forced to wonder.

I’ve been forced to deal with a reality that I don’t like, but it exists around me.

I wish I could be different.

I wish I could be in a more peaceful place.

I wish I wouldn’t have these thoughts today.

The wondering thoughts drain my energy.

The wondering thoughts drain my soul.

A heavy burden.

Sometimes I wish I had a lighter load.

My mind wanders to places that are painful.

The suffering of others causes pain.

The unfairness in the world causes pain.

There’s heaviness in my heart.

In my mind.

In my soul.

As I wonder, as my mind wanders.

I’m blessed with love, others are not in this world.

Maybe that’s what I should tell myself, to lessen the pain…

When my mind wonders.

How blessed I am having love in my life, unconditional, pure love!

But my mind wanders.

Have I felt this before?

There is something magical about the art of creation.  It feels so exhilarating, so fulfilling.  That’s how I feel when I write.  Being in touch with my emotions, expressing my deepest feelings, my true feelings, is like nothing else that I have experienced before.  But is it that true?  Have I felt this before?

My memories started flooding my senses as I went back in time to a place that I have not forgotten.  Tears start coming down as I realize that my soul was trying to tell me something many years ago.  I tried to listen, but I was still a child and my dependent self couldn’t survive by itself.

When I was a young teenager I took art as one of my elective classes.  There was not much thought about taking that step.  There is not much thought about anything you do when you are in middle school.  I was a very good student – all As, all my life through school.  As every good student, your parents and teachers want you to focus on those hard math and science classes.  You are supposed to set your sight into something bigger than art, something more serious, more respectable.  So I never received encouragement to pursue the happiness of creation.  I probably didn’t share with my parents or my teachers how I felt when I was doing the art projects.

I never talked about the ecstasy of forming clay with my hands until the shape of an abstract sculpture takes life.  I could almost feel today my fingers working the wet clay and the smoothness of the process of creation when I let myself go.  Those pieces still live in the abandoned shelves of my childhood bedroom – testaments of another path that could have been.

I did not share with anyone the joy of smelling the oil pigments while working on my masterpiece in the garage.  The excitement of buying the tubes of colors and the pride of creating new members of the rainbow.  The awe when a new color blooms – an infinite number of possibilities as the ochre mixed with white.  A fresh shade created by my senses – an original never seen before.  The masterpiece no longer exists in this physical world, but it will never leave my mind.

I had similar brushes with art in college, where I again decided to take an art class as an elective.  This time was different though.  It was an art appreciation class where we were asked to pick an artist and study the style.  I selected a Spanish artist, El Greco.  I still remember vividly the painting that I chose to analyze, the long bodies extending to the sky and the challenge of trying to figure out what lied behind the intent of the artist.  As a writer now I realize that it is impossible to know exactly what an artist is thinking during the moment of creation.

“Art for an artist or a book for a writer are personal expressions that escape the conscious understanding of the viewer or reader; the viewer or reader can only attempt to decipher the emotions and feelings behind the creation.” — IS

But wait…there is one more memory that is awakening.  There is another time – that innocent memory of my first performance when I was in primary school and I played the organ at the Christmas show.  I was so nervous, but I felt so proud.  I did something that was creative.  It was my first meeting with the pleasure of owning the joy of art.

I didn’t know how to interpret the deep sentiments of my experiences.  I don’t even know if I understood then the meaning of the emotions – the calmness, the peacefulness, the freedom of creation.  I felt something – many things – but those feelings were foreign to me and I didn’t understand their true meaning.  No one around me took the time to ask.  Even if they have asked, I’m not sure what I would have said.

My soul attempted to rise from the depth of my being.  My soul was shouting, but the noise around me was too loud.  Those around me showed me a different path.  I became a scientist.  The voice of my soul was put aside in a corner of my brain where memories accumulated for a later time.  I left my soul behind until now.  Those memories today becoming significant as I again encounter the art of creation – the reconciliation with my soul.

My soul-searching journey uncovers an important piece of the puzzle.  It is comforting to know that the pieces are starting to come together.  The memories of the past evolve into who I am today.  My soul is happy to know that I am listening now.  I don’t need to depend on others to show me the path.  I own my destiny and I can’t wait to continue discovering the mysteries ahead.

Everything is starting to make sense!

A Journey To Finding My Soul

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The Journey Begins

My name is Ines.  Today is my 56th birthday and I decided to create this blog to give a voice to my coqui soul. 

I call it coqui soul because I am from Puerto Rico.  The coqui is a tiny frog native from Puerto Rico.  It serves as a national symbol for Puerto Rico.  As a native Puerto Rican, I strongly identify with the coqui.  Thus, I’m calling this site My Coqui Soul project, as the purpose of this journey is to discover my Puerto Rican – coqui – soul.

I was born and lived in Puerto Rico until I graduated from college.  Then I moved to Michigan in 1984 to attend graduate school.  I now live in Michigan. 

After 34 years from leaving the island, I still relate deeply to the coqui.  I’m Puerto Rican by birth and feel that I will always be Puerto Rican in my soul.  

For the last several years, I have been doing a lot of self-reflection.  I guess you can say that I have been going through mid-life crisis.  A lot of things have happened that triggered my exploration.  I have been thinking a lot about who I am.  Not superficially, but who I truly am.  I have been searching for my soul. 

This blog gives a voice to my coqui soul.  I will be sharing my thoughts, my emotions. and the many life lessons learned along the way.  I hope that you join me in this journey.  Maybe you can relate to my observations.  I hope you can also reflect as you listen and even learn something about yourself.  I hope my journey can evolve into your own journey.   

Welcome to my blog — My Coqui Soul Project 

Thanks for joining me!

Good company in a journey makes the way seem shorter. — Izaak Walton