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The Source of a Dream: Aloha, Mom, Garcia Marquez, and the Smiles of Children by Kiyoshi Houston After a long day at school and seeing to extracurricular, after-school duties, I came home to find my mother beaming with an open letter in her hand. In life, we have many dreams and goals. The nature of them is evolutionary and dynamic. For example, perhaps when we are four we want that interesting toy we saw at the park. When we are eight, we want a basketball or a new doll. When we are twelve, we want the CD that all the older kids think is cool. When we are sixteen, we want a driver's license and a car. When we are eighteen, we want the future to unfold before us. All of these take some degree of faith, but the biggest dreams demand that we believe deeply in our faith and believe that, given our dedication and determination, we can succeed. Since an early age, I have aspired to become a pediatric reconstructive surgeon. The letter in my mother's hand was one of many thresholds over which I had to cross to continue on that journey. The letter was a letter of acceptance to a highly competitive program at the USC Keck School of Medicine: the Baccalaureate-Doctor of Medicine Program (BAMD). While the program receives hundreds of applicants, only approximately twenty students are invited into the eight-year program, which tracks honors students directly into medical school without re-applying as long as we keep our grades up and score well on the MCAT medical school entrance exam. The dream began when I was six. At a dinner in Honolulu on a lanai by the beach with my mother and her friend, I listened to a pediatric reconstructive surgeon talk about her work. In particular, she discussed the case of a young girl who was born without the muscles in her face that would allow her to smile. The doctor was in the process of correcting that problem. I was moved by that story. I wanted to be able to help ailing children in the same way that doctor had done. In addition, I read an article my mother gave me about a pediatric reconstructive surgeon in San Diego who was working with children who were suffering from cranial defects. From a medical point of view, I was fascinated with the dedication and precision of the work. From a humanistic point of view, I again was moved by the ability to heal someone in a way that helped them medically, but that also had such an incredible impact on their psychological self. I wrote him a letter praising the humanity of his work, but he never wrote me back. I didn't let that deter me. All my life, I have worked with children at church, as a child care provider in my own business called Kiyoshi Kare, as a big brother to three younger siblings, and at an on-call job at My Gym Children's Fitness Center where I assisted with camps and birthday parties working with children aged two to twelve. I thrive in being able to help children build their self-esteem and lead the best lives possible. A future in pediatric surgery will allow me to help children who exist in the most critical of contexts. As a determined and energetic individual who believes in living a well-rounded life, I also hope to bring to the medical field a manner that allows patients to feel comfortable talking with me. To that end, I plan to minor in the arts and humanities while majoring in pre-medicine during my undergraduate years. It is my desire to major in psychology and minor in gender studies, and also in dance. I have deep interests in vocal music, theater, dance, and Japanese studies; all of which help me to lead a richer life. As a transnational, multiracial AfroAsian individual, it also is important to me to allow my rich cultural heritages to make me a better citizen in the medical field, hopefully being able to serve underserved communities who are in great need of good care, particularly for children in critical situations. This was the literal path to this juncture in my journey. There was, however, another influence which I would like to share with you. At the age of fourteen, I was given Gabriel Garcia Marquez's novel One Hundred Years of Solitude by my mother. As I groaned at its thickness, she said, "Life can be long and this book is about life. One day, the tornado will come. Be able to greet it with grace. Fill your life." In three days, I consumed the book. I was fascinated with Marquez's personification of a town; and the interrelations between that town as a breathing entity and the people whose journeys led them to reside there. The course of the town's life is much like the course of a person's life. Originating as a small, obscure blip on the map of existence, the town grows prosperous due to the hard work of its few residents, expanding into a banana industry power and a center of governmental rebellion. As the town dwindles in its dotage, most of its residents abandon it, except for the descendants of the first few families who, worn down and demoralized from the rigors of existence, are swept away by a force of nature-a tornado that rips through the town's heart. In Japan, there stands at temple gates two ornate dog statues. One's mouth is open so as to emit the sound "ah," the first character in the Japanese hiragana alphabet, signifying life's first breath. The other dog's mouth is tightly shut so as to emit the sound "n"; the final character in hiragana, signifying the last sound one makes before dying. Such is Marquez's novel-and life itself. The novel inspires me to fill my life, to fill the time between the "ah" and "n," the time between birth's exciting possibilities and the inevitable tornado. From the novel's ambitious father who puts so much effort into living that he falls ill to the characters of the mischievous but talented brothers, I cull a sense of focus, determination to go the extra mile, and the ability to sustain a good sense of humor in the midst of getting the job done. The rebellious soldier character encourages me to be brave enough to assert my perspectives even in the face of disagreement and criticism. The hard-working, precise mother reminds me of my own supportive, successful mother who always encourages me to do my best. The novel intrigues me with regard to its reflections on the quality of life. It inspires self-reflection: what legacy do I want to leave behind, how do I wish to be remembered? For the "tornado" comes for us all. We do not know when. I only can resolve to do and be my best with regard to my family, friends, school community, the city in which I live, and the children I baby-sit or counsel at camp. I re-read this novel last summer. Again, it moved me and inspired me to fill my life with meaning and accomplishment-in medicine, good family and community relations, a rich experience with music and dance, a strong connection to my various cultural traditions, and with an overall integrity that will allow me to confront the tornado with a sense of resolution and peace. I know that the journey I am undertaking is a challenging and long one, but I am committed to making it happen. The Saint Augustine's community has contributed to my journey. I arrived at the Saint Augustine's parish in 1988 holding my mother's hands. Full of energy, I don't think I was ever an unknown presence. I am sure that I annoyed parishioners as much as I charmed them, but, forgive me my trespasses because all children must endure the pains and joys of growing up. I thank the parish community for embracing me and my family so warmly. The church has contributed to my sense of humanity and to my inner strength that allows me to meet life's challenges with assertiveness, conscientiousness, and the discipline to ultimately respond in a good way. Thank you for being part of my "village."
Copyright © 2004 St. Augustine by-the-Sea
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