Serendipity

“You’re like my Dumbledore--not as wise, but still pretty cool,” joked my friend. It was one of the best compliments I’ve received. Though his words made me laugh, they also made me reflect on why he perceived me as the fictional, old wizard. Although it’s assumed that with age comes wisdom, I’m not sure I agree. However, I know with age comes perspective. As an eighteen-year-old, I don’t have much wisdom, but I certainly have gained some perspective. My story begins in New York City, where I was born to a Zoroastrian mother and a Hindu father, two religions that strongly discourage interfaith marriage. Their union provides me the opportunity to celebrate double the number of holidays, enjoy two different cuisines, and live an interesting life that embraces varied cultures. I spent my early childhood as an expat in Singapore, learning Mandarin and British English. Everywhere I looked, I found diversity—in skin color, religion, and garb. I grew up thinking such a heterogeneous environme...

When I was twelve, I thought I was invincible—not in the comic book sense, but in the way that I assumed I would always be around. That all changed the day I learned that my friend Danny had lost his fight with cancer. In my young mind, I believed in the fairytale: that he would eventually be victorious. The memory of Danny laughing and performing magic tricks while hooked to a myriad of machines still replays in my mind. It was a strange paradox: his soft smile and warm features against the plastic tubery and metallic machinery that supported his life. We were each inhibited by our own bodies in different ways. I was hooked on ‘perfection’, scared of judgment and failure, so I hid my ideas from the world. Danny was restrained by his tumors, not allowing him to live through even the simplest things, like going on adventures or graduating high school; the things I took for granted. Grief distorted my sense of time. I felt like I was walking through a Van Gogh painting, everything bl...