She Wants The Z

I have to quit saying that I’m tired. I say that phrase on a daily basis. It gets to the point that it honestly doesn’t have any meaning. I usually am actually tired. I don’t get the qualified amount of sleep hours. Personally, ten hours would be perfect, but I can get by with five hours without looking like a total zombie. My sleeping habits are awful. I watch TV since I had a TV installed directly on the wall across from my bed. We have charter spectrum. My thumb hits the green ON DEMAND button and I’m gone. Lately, I’ve been watching feel good movies. I am a sucker for the ones with Meg Ryan and Tom Hanks. HBO family was featuring You’ve Got Mail at 1 a.m. one time. And of course the commercials seem to last longer than the actual segments of the movie. Stayed up until 3 a.m. on a school night, absorbing the movie that I have seen countless of times. Makes sense. I usually die a little after one in the morning. Then become alive with the light of my screen beaming on me interrupting my short blackout. I shuffle through my sheets to find the remote wanting to shut off the factor of my disappointing REM sleep. 

I also stay up doing all this school work that I should have done during the day when I have free time. But instead, I spend time watching episodes of the office on Netflix, because of course that is the real pathway to success. The thing is, I don’t have my own set of workers that can forge my homework. So my homework has to get done at some point, and that is usually at around eleven at night. What’s really unfortunate is I can’t remember the last time I went to bed before ten. I know I don’t get to sleep in. I wake up at six every morning during the weekdays. My family likes to have breakfast in the morning, together. Every single morning. I make sure to brew the coffee. Don’t expect me to function if I do not have coffee in my system. I will slowly shut down. So saying that I am tired all the time needs to stop. That means I gotta lay off the television before I go to bed and figure out my schoolwork schedule. Will this happen? Not probable. But it is a goal that has been on mind for quite some time. 

Unraveling the Inner D.O.

Going into college I have had one focus for my profession. I aspire to become a physician. Currently working on achieving my associates in science and will then move on from there. I have dreamed of working in the medical field for a while now. I remember for career day in grade school, I wore my mother’s white lab jacket, which encrypted the words “grey’s anatomy” on the front pocket. I was boss.

I once wrote a paper for an essay contest on why I want to be a physician in my county. The paper included how I wanted to make a difference in the community. I would like to better the health of individuals with my knowledge and expertise. The goal of any physician, hopefully. I specifically would like to become a D.O. (doctor of osteopathic medicine). My family has three generations of earning a degree in Osteopathic medicine. Osteopathic medicine involves a hands on approach of looking at the patient, not just observing a set of percentages or a pathology report. D.O.’s will talk one on one with a patient and will consider the structure of the body a major factor in what may be causing an injury or illness (hence “osteo” meaning for bone).

This small town called Kirksville is located in Missouri, where osteopathic medicine was founded in the late 1800’s. Kirksville is an extremely small town. My family used to travel to Kirksville to visit my nana. The only things that kept us kids intrigued were fishing, eating nana’s cookies, and well that’s about it. Kirksville is such a small town that going to Walmart was a high light. We used to drive by the first institution of Osteopathy when we visited. This is the building where my great grandfather, my grandfather, and my mother all earned their degrees in Osteopathy. How cool would it be if earned this degree, setting a four generation achievement?!

Osteopathic medicine is a major degree which can branch out into all sort of medical fields. I am not exactly sure what specific field I would go into… People always ask me if I am going to take over my mother’s practice, which is dermatology. Of course I have considered this option. The thing is I don’t want to have a narrow focus. I want to keep my options open, because what if I fall in love with a different specialty? There is a process called rotations, where a medical student has the opportunity to practice all sorts of medical fields. I hope I know my calling by then. I hope I make it that far.

AT Still University- Kirksville, MO

Electric Pigments

For my English course, we spent one class participating in the human library. The human library is an event that consists of stations where you meet people who have dealt with some sort of thing in their life. This is very general, but only because this certain thing could be something like being a community organizer to recovering from a deadly car accident. I listened to several stories from my chosen stations. One particular person caught my attention. I met the tattooed professor. 85% of this man’s body is covered with designs, each one meaning something special to him. From my observation, I saw that he had procedures done on his knuckles, arms, neck, and back of the head. I couldn’t get a good look at all of the visible tattoos, but on one arm he had this abstract design. It looks like one section was overlapping the other. I thought the design was cool. I asked him how much money he has spent on all of the procedures. He replied a ball park of $25,000. Quite the investment… It then hit me that this man is extremely passionate about this particular art form. One thing comes to mind immediately about tattoos, pain. Having a needle inject your skin isn’t the most luxurious feeling. He said some were painful, most were not. One time, he had fallen asleep when going under the needle. How is that even possible! It’s as if his body became immune to getting tattoos. I envy his pain tolerance.

 Most first impressions of a person with that numerous permanent designs is one thing. Bad ass. He also wore ear gauges, so that adds to the assumption. When getting to know him, my assumption lead further and further away from the original. His profession is an economics professor. He said that most people want to take his class because they think he is a cool, laid back kind of guy. In reality, he considers his course to be one of the hardest courses that is offered where he teaches. Another fact sadly surprised me. This man had worked at another place for several years. He had gotten more and more tattoos that were visible. His work place changed their description for the job and had fired him. They fired him because of his tattoos. This was bothersome because his credentials were more than qualified for the job. I guess tattoos come with a price, not only does it hurt, for most people at least. It also has a discriminatory factor. This man is normal like everyone else, he was easy to talk to. He wore a nice suit and tie and was a genuinely pleasant person to get to know. It is too bad that appearances have such a heavy impact in society. I wish I wouldn’t have made assumptions when sitting at his station. He wasn’t this bad ass guy holding an impressive backstory. He is a man teaching economics for college students; enjoying life with just a bit more color. 

Roughin' It in the Grand Canyon

I think anyone who has graduated high school should be really proud of themselves. It is a big accomplishment. My goal was to finish strong. Ever since I was a kid, my mother said that if you keep your grades up, you can choose anywhere in the United States to travel to after you finish high school. If anyone knows my mother, she keeps her word. So of course I kept up my grades, for the most part. Taking AP classes my senior year was probably not the best decision I have ever made. If I were to do it over again, I would have enjoyed my last year without the overload of my school work. But I pulled myself together and graduated with a pretty decent GPA.

So before my graduation, my mother presented me two options:

1) Throw a big grad party  

2) Plan a trip anywhere in the U.S.

I am no fool. I chose to travel. Duh. So we researched some of my desired destinations, but both decided that the Grand Canyon was the place to go. I had never been to the Grand Canyon and wanted to do something active. We booked a hot air balloon ride for the first day. It wasn’t as scary as I imagined it would be. It was very peaceful, and of course the view was incredible. Then for the next three days, we would be hiking the Grand Canyon with the AOA tour group. The trip included camping near the Havasupai Village at the bottom of the Grand Canyon, the oldest Native American civilization located in the US. Neat right?

The first day of hiking, our tour guide told us that the level of hiking wouldn’t be too extraneous. My definition of extraneous was on a different level than his. I seriously was not expecting the difficultly of the hike. My mother and I did not train for the hiking, which was a poor choice. I don’t know what we were thinking when we signed up for the tour. I was feeling it within the first twenty minutes and that was only going downhill. The scorching sun also felt really great when we had to hike for ten miles out in the open. If we didn’t stay hydrated, we would have died. There is no question about it. We were really happy to reach our campsite at the end of the first day.

There was one slight problem for my mother and me though. Our bags had been kept in the trailer... at the top of the freaking Grand Canyon! Our bags that contained all our clothes, toothbrush, socks, etc. We had none of it. All I can say is that we got a true camping experience. In all of our pictures, we are in the same disgusting clothing. We visited three waterfalls and got to go in the water, which was refreshing for our consecutive three day filth. I jumped off this one waterfall, which was exhilarating. The cliff was slippery and I almost decided not to jump off. I was really proud of myself for taking a leap of faith, literally.

The last day, there was an option to be taken up to the top via helicopter. My mom told me I could either take the helicopter or hike to the top. Although the helicopter would have been cool, I wanted to hike. I wanted to be able to say that I hiked to top of the Grand Canyon. Also we got to go at our own pace, which meant we could take as many pictures and rest stops as we pleased. We were really happy to see our bags once we reached the top, but by then it didn’t really matter. I was just happy to have had an adventure with my mom, celebrating my graduation. 

Another Brick in the Wall, Pt. 4

The sky is the limit. Reach for the stars. The world is your oyster. Sound familiar? Well I’ve got a fat challenge for these expressions. Let’s change the Russian Government.

I am dead serious. Let’s just do it. Now the corrupted government might not get fixed entirely by me. I could try, because I’ve have been taught that “can’t” is not a word. This is the overly optimistic ego speaking. We should all have one. My core focus on making a universal difference is based on reversing the ban on adoption from foreign countries in Russia. Let’s look at the facts. In 2012, the U.S. Congress passed the Magnistky Act, which is basically a bill that proclaimed the corruption of Russian officials. The ban was a response to this Act. This law that banned this once beautiful opportunity is known as the Dima Yakovelv Law, passed by Vladimir Putin in 2013. Dima was an adopted child by an American family. His parents left him in car at a parking lot. He had tragically died in the car in 2008, only after three months of living in America. Another tragic case spiked attention in Russia. A child had been brought to America. The mother decided to send him back to Russia. The child was sent on an airplane all on his own. Devastating.

There is no justification for the actions of these irresponsible parents. Zero. But how about we look at the effects of this ban. Nearly two dozen children in Russian orphanages were denied the right to be brought to America after families had made legal plans to do so. An estimation of 200-250 children had actually met with American families, created a connection, but then were not given the right to go through the adoption process. There was a case where a family had adopted a boy previously to the ban, and had hoped to adopt his brother. The ban revoked the family’s plan and now the boy is without his biological brother. This is absolutely heartbreaking. The boy had anticipated his brother coming home, and now the parents have to explain to the child that it is impossible.

Before the ban, about 60,000 children had been adopted by American families from the past twenty years. Three of those children happen to live in my household. My older brother Demetrios had been adopted a year before me. In Russia, we lived in the same orphanage, located in Krasnodar, Russia. Demetrios and I were best friends at the orphanage. When he had been adopted, he had missed me terribly. He would cry “Anya” to his mother in America. She did everything she could to find out who Anya was. I was the girl of my mother’s aspiration. I had reunited with my best friend a year later at the age of five. My best friend became my brother. In 2005, we adopted a four year old boy named Illushka or for short Illiya. He had been located at a different orphanage in Siberia, Russia. I have so much gratitude for my privilege to live in America with a loving and supportive family. The common good out ways the cases of the shameful tragedies. I am not sure how exactly I can change this law, but I think the first step is awareness. My heart aches for the families and children that could be united in a safe and loving home. 

(Demetri and I on our way to land in America)

(Demetri and I leaving the orphange)

(We greet Illiya at the airport) 

sources:
http://www.csmonitor.com/The-Culture/2014/0118/Russian-adoption-ban-One-year-
later http://www.huffingtonpost.com/shai-baitel/russias-adoption-ban-two_b_6399064.html
https://www.washingtonpost.com/news/worldviews/wp/2012/12/28/the-real-reason-russia-wants-to-ban-adoptions-by-dangerous-american-families/

Elevated Window Of Opportunities

The love to traveling was set in stone for me at young age. I was five years old.

Departure: Krasnodar, Russia. Arrival: Michigan, USA.

I remember sitting with my Baboushka on the airplane on the way to America. I can see myself sitting next to the window. She sat to my right. A hockey game was playing on the small screen above. I can picture my Baboushka wearing headphones, trying to tell me to pick up mine and put them on. I looked up at the screen and then saw a man in a uniform with skates make a goal. I don’t know why my brain decided to remember this memory for the rest of my life. It is such a small moment. I didn’t even know how to speak English, and yet I knew exactly what she was trying to tell me. My mom only remembers me throwing up the food they had served me on the plane. Lucky her. 

(My older brother  has had to put up with me for a long time)

My mother has included me and my brother in trips all over the world. Costa Rica. Galápagos Islands. A trip from the needle point in Seattle to the Redwoods in Cali. Some of these trips were guided by National Geographic Expeditions. I have been one lucky girl. The best time I had was zip lining in the rain forest of Costa Rica. I will never forget how close I had gotten to a tree, thinking I was going to crash right into it. My family tries to plan an annual trip, usually around the winter time. So for winter break, I have gone to the Bahamas, Cayman Islands, and of course cannot forget to mention Disney World.

   

 (us kids behaving well, anticipating a fun vacation)    

(little brother playing in the sand while I gear up, Cayman Islands)

(myself, brother, and cousins having a blast in Islas Mujeres)  

(riding horseback along the Coast Rica shorelines)

Growing up with the opportunity of physically discovering the world, I aspire to keep the hobby last. As a college student, I want to study abroad. My dream destination is Barcelona, Spain. I have studied Spanish all four years of high school and am currently enrolled in a Spanish course. Three months of learning Spanish culture would be such an opportunity. My previous trips have more like vacations, but getting to live in Spain independently with cultural people is a different story. I also want to travel to Machu Picchu once in my life, and also bring my mother along. Her dream has been to go there ever since she was in grade school. I want take her to Machu Picchu. I am grateful for all the trips I have experienced, so I’d like to do the same for her one day.

 

 (posing in the Redwood National and State Parks)

(up close and personal in the Galápagos Islands) 

Talking to the Moon

Okay, this is where I am currently figuring myself out. I am a hopeless romantic. I believe in soul mates. I believe in the stars aligning. I believe in all that mumbo jumbo. But here is my present goal dealing with my love status: stop looking for the one. I think the problem with having a person be “the one” is the expectations I place for this perfect trophy guy. Has to be taller than me. Has to be funny. Has to have brown hair with blue eyes. Charming. Intelligent. Genuine smile. Not lazy, but also not overly active. Mysterious. Passionate about music. The list goes on. I raise my expectations to such a high standard that it is impossible to ever have a guy be the one. But it’s not entirely my fault (I like to think this, so let me). In high school, there was this boy. I thought about him none stop. Butterflies, uncontrollable smirks, you name it. I had them. I thought this guy was so charming and funny. Anyways, I got to know him, but then he became the boy that got away. Touchy subject so I will not go into detail. I resent myself for being so picky with every guy that has comes my way. I am so unbelievably hooked on a certain type because of this boy. I blame him.

Okay that’s not fair. I don’t actually blame him. I blame those deceptive Nicholas Sparks books/movies. Media ruins everything. It cements all these qualities that women need to look for in a guy. Men don't have a chance. I have gotten to the point where I give up. And you know what, I think it’s a good thing. I shouldn’t be caught up in boy drama. I should focus on my studies and my friends. I don’t need a guy in my life at this moment. But I can’t help to hope for a happily ever after. I want to find a person that brings out the best of me. A family is definitely in my wishes. The thing is, I don’t want to keep searching for the right one. God has a plan for my life and I need to trust Him. It won’t mean I’ll sit back and expect someone to miraculously appear. I won’t be afraid to take chances.  I have mentally shredded the list and have made a self-pact to be accepting of fate taking its course. 

Something There

After quitting taekwondo my freshman year into high school, I was able to become involved with extracurricular activities. I have always had a knack for acting and singing. Having this passion, I pursued high school plays and musicals my junior and senior year. Junior year musical was 1776. I was disappointed with the selection. Not a huge US History fanatic. But the play grew on me, it kind of had to. I was casted as the masculine courier. My role required me to learn a solo, the song being “Momma Look Sharp”. Yes I played a man. It was a challenge, getting the accent and stride right. I was proud of my inner acting skills to execute a believable character. It was a true acting experience.

After my breakthrough performance, my pride sort of went to my head. The next year, Beauty and the Beast was released as the upcoming spring musical. My heart was set on becoming Belle. I thought I had it in the bag. I rehearsed my song and dialogue for auditions. I sang in the shower and annoyed my family with dancing around the kitchen island, pretending I was a classic Disney princess. What girl doesn’t ever do this? Of course, there was competition. I knew this other girl was going to audition for the same character. Don’t get me wrong, it wasn’t just me and this other girl. Many girls wanted to be Belle. But I knew this girl hard killer pipes.

I auditioned. I sang my heart out. I acted as emotional and believable as I could. And then I had to wait for the casting. Lo and behold I was not Belle. I was casted as Babette. Who the hell is Babette? I actually did know who she was. Babette, this saucy French feather duster. I wanted to throw up. I loathed the role of Babette. I wanted to quit the play all together. If I wasn’t Belle, I wasn’t going to be anyone. I was supposed to be the humble Beauty. I rarely whine like this. This was something I had dreamed of achieving. My mother became so frustrated with my complaining. She insisted that I stay in the musical, taking on the feather duster. I complied and agreed I was being overly dramatic. I should have been grateful for even getting a part in the play. So I got my big girl pants on and got over it.

Later on in the rehearsals, the director proposed that a young boy should try out for the Shepherd Boy/Dust Pan. I knew my little brother would love the opportunity, so I referred him to the director. My little brother, eleven years old in fifth grade, auditioned and ended up landing the role. I made a lot of memories with my little brother. Performing on stage with my brother, knowing he was having a blast, made me feel like I had gotten the best role in the play. I will never forget the laughs and fun memories I got to share with him. Ending my high school career, doing what I love to do, sharing the stage with my little brother. I couldn’t have asked for anything more. 

Supah Fly Ninja

Becoming a ninja is probably the most accomplished goal I can think of. A ninja doesn’t just know how to roundhouse kick or break some boards using a knife hand. A ninja develops discipline, self-control, integrity, and also techniques. My ninja qualifications can be proved through my black belt in taekwondo.

I earned my black belt at the age of 12. This sounds impressive, but considering that I started taekwondo at the age of 5 and went to class twice a week kind of explains my youthful accomplishment. I started as a little ninja. Literally.  Little Ninjas was the name of my class. My dojo was located at Seung Ni. My mother enrolled me and my older brother in little ninjas as soon as we arrived to the States. Being adopted from Russia, I learned how to front kick before I learned how to speak English. The more I learned about taekwondo, the more I fell in love. I looked forward to the two days of the week that allowed me to kick, punch, and do inner power yells known as a “Kiyap”. The owner of Sueng-Ni was my master, a.k.a. Master Gary. He encouraged me to give 110% effort into the techniques taught at the dojo. Since we were very committed to our weekly lessons, it didn’t take long for me and my brother to rise in the belt levels.

The black belt test is the hardest test of all the belts, obviously. Black belt camp was mandatory to do in order to test for a black belt. Black belt camp was the devil. We had to condition, spare, run, and do other vigorous activities every weekend at Seung Ni. I wasn’t really in favor of the sparing aspect. I was a 12 year old girl that had to go against other students raging from teens to adults. It’s a good thing they teach self-control because my opponents could have done some serious damage.

When it came to test day, I was so ready. The test involved doing forms which are basically memorized movements, but with perfected techniques. I was the queen of forms. I knew exactly where my low block had to be placed, and where my feet would have to be positioned. One wrong angle of your foot and the stance could be a “back stance” instead of a “cat stance”. I drilled forms every week, so the forms became muscle memory. Not a problem for me. Breaking four wooden boards with a flying side kick, slight problem. I was nervous when Master Gary called my name to break the boards. Petrified. My heart jumped and the pounding in my temples would not stop. I had a killer flying side kick, but using it to break the boards was a different story. There was a barrier I had to get through.

So I stood in front of the boards from a distance. Master Gary stood there, holding the boards, bracing himself for the impact. Don’t stutter when running. Tuck in your leg when jumping. Hit the center. Don’t hold back. I kiyapped with all my might, ran with agility, jumped at the perfect distance, tucked and extended my leg. I felt the strength of my momentum against the boards.

I didn’t break them.

I didn’t break the stupid boards. They just laid on the floor, unbroken. Master Gary allowed me to try again, but I never broke the boards. I was commanded to sit back down. Why tears didn’t flood, I don’t know. My pride was torn down by those stupid wooden boards. Master Gary showed mercy. He said the students that did not break the boards would be given another chance. So once again I would have to face my fear. The next weekend there was a chance to redeem my failure. So here I was again. I had to try again and again that weekend. I failed every single time. I was beyond frustration. 

After the third week since the test, I was at Seung Ni, attempting to break the boards. Finally, Master Gary said that if I don’t break the boards with in the next three attempts, I wasn’t going to pass. Anxiety rushed into my chest. The first attempt was a failure. I remember looking at my mom when walking back to the position, she mouthed the words “just do it”. I ran so fast. It had felt like I was actually flying in the air. After I struck the boards, I fumbled down on the ground. I knew I broke the boards because I could feel my body gliding slightly longer. I had heard the snapping of the wood. I was filled with joy. I started running towards my mom with tears and the biggest smile on my face. Thinking about my determination that day still gives me chills. That moment was the most accomplished I have ever felt. My dream to become a supah fly ninja became reality. 

The Method to My Madness

The reason I chose this topic is to create a list of my goals. These goals will include goals from the past, whether I have achieved them or not. If I always achieved my goals, I think I wouldn’t be the person I am today. I like to think that I have learned from my mistakes, failures, and disappointments. My Uncle Chris once said to me, it’s not the hardships you face that make you who you are, it’s how you deal with them (or something like that). This blog will explain how I have fallen and then gotten back up. How I have quit and have been irritably stubborn dealing with my unaccomplished dreams will also be mentioned.

The Dream Atlas will also include my wishes for the future. Making your dreams into reality is the ultimate goal for any person, right? For instance, having the guts to face your crush, making the first move. Acing a test in that certain class you struggle with. Learning how to ride your first bike. I realize these are such minute dreams, but these small accomplishments matter. If we never accomplished the small things, we wouldn’t know the reward. The reward being the truest feeling of happiness, of course. Did you think I was going to mention flashy things like the Pulitzer Prize, Olympic medals, and Grammy awards? Let’s take a reality check here and not get carried away. I think happiness is the greatest prize there can be. Doing what you love to do every day with one goal at a time is a gold medal in my eyes.

So why chose to write about my goals? I have given the description of what this blog will contain, but I haven’t really explained why it matters to me and may matter to the readers out there. For my own selfish desires, I thought it would be a neat way to organize my past achievements and future aspirations. I’m hoping it may also be therapeutically helpful to force my mind to think about what makes me, me. Hopefully I figure out some positive lessons along the way. To my fellow blog readers, I hope that The Dream Atlas will spark motivation to make your dreams reality. Reading this blog, getting off the couch, and turning the track “Eye of the Tiger” on are just a few steps to a happy life.