One December day, I was born in New York City. That day, my father bought me a precious little doll with a yellow sunflower dress from a gift shop. He came inside the hospital room with my big brother, who was only five years old at that time. He was overjoyed to see me, a new and forever friend in his life.
My father laid the doll right next to me in the crib. She was wrapped in a soft baby Winnie-the-Pooh blanket. On the drive home, it was snowing, and the whole town was wrapped with a white blanket of shining vanilla ice and sleepy snowdrops falling onto the pavement of the streets.
My mother was really blessed to have me, just like I’m blessed that she brought me into this world. With any small achievement of mine, whether it was smiling, sneezing or even crawling, her face would light up like the shining sun. There I was, moving my tiny hands and legs, just being brought to life in a city that never sleeps. There my doll was next to me, ready for the surprises that life would bring for us both together.
When I was a baby, I had jaundice, and I was premature like many babies can be. Since the New York winter was cold, I wasn’t able to be exposed to sunlight, which caused a lack of vitamin D. However, this only lasted for a couple weeks. Then I got healthier. Trust me, I was well-fed and loved as a baby, and I’m truly thankful for that.
Now that I look back, I see how my parents had to work twice as hard as usual to raise me and bring me this far. After all, being a human isn’t easy. We’re born as fragile and mild human beings, sensitive and easily prone to illnesses. We have to put a lot of work into staying well, and that can be overwhelming sometimes, but it’s worth it in the long run.
I was a tiny baby, and that doll that my dad bought for me resembled me. Fresh, newborn, innocently bought into the world and in love with sunflowers. During the daytime, the light would be transparent through the doll’s dress and you could see the little sunflowers becoming visible. This tiny doll was a baby, too, with a small head, some light hair and a permanent smile. She would lie down next to me wherever I was. Whether I was drinking apple juice from a bottle or sitting down next to a gigantic Winnie-the-Pooh teddy bear, there she was with her tender smile.
I grew up with this doll, and when I became a child, with a sweet smile and cavity-filled teeth that were used to candy treats, I said, “I will name her Houdi.”
Growing up from childhood to adulthood
Oh, how I miss letting Houdi fly and explore around the house with my imaginative, dancing hands. How I miss giggling like jingle bells when she would talk about what she wanted and didn’t want in her life in her squeaky, high-pitched voice. I miss the recorded videos on my phone of her dancing enthusiastically with her cotton belly flopping in and out. I sometimes wonder whether I should spend time with her like I did when I was a child. Wouldn’t it look silly for a young adult to be running around with a doll?
There are times when I get a bit melancholic because I miss those days when I was able to be with Houdi more. Even Houdi’s white skin has become tanned brown over time, and her pale yellow sunflower dress is now ripped around the edges. Her cotton skin is also torn a bit, revealing the stuffed white cotton inside her body that looks like piles of soft clouds.
Am I fading with time as well? Will all the sunflowers in my backyard dry out? Will my clothes end up frail and thin, ripped around the edges? Does growing up mean I can’t be happy anymore?
Now that there’s so much planning to do to work towards the future, I feel more serious, easily tired, stressed out and irritable. However, when I was younger and in elementary school, I was laid back, energetic, and easily laughed it all off. This could be because I had no plans then, except to live for the day. But I want to live life now, too, while I’m getting older. I can do both now, can’t I?
As a young child, when I looked at Houdi, I had no worries. Every morning, there she would be right next to me near my pillow, smiling. With a relaxed smile in return, I would think to myself how excited I was; I knew I’d be able to spend more time with her. I knew I’d be able to sit in the corner of the family room carpet and play some more with dolls. I’d be able to bring Houdi to my loved ones so they could pamper her and I’d hear them say more loving things to my favourite doll.
Recently, while I was doing schoolwork, there were times when I would look at Houdi and swallow a lump in my throat. I wished I could go back to when my only worry was that she wasn’t listening to me. My eyes became moist as I reminisced.
With a heavy heart, I wiped my wet eyes and questioned myself. How could I be more like myself? How could I be the happy-go-lucky girl that I was born to be like Houdi? I tossed and turned in my bed and tried to think of ways to unwind. All I ended up feeling was stressed out and more tired. The circles under my eyes became darker.
Impermanence as we age
Each day, as humans, we all age. On the other hand, dolls stay alive forever like Houdi, stuffed with cotton inside. Not me; I’m filled with a red pumping heart, blood and a pink brain. This gives me a reason to live, but it also reminds me that growing up means understanding that nothing lasts forever. When I was younger, it felt like nothing would end and everything would stay the same. As I’m getting older, I’ve begun to worry about how many days I have left. It shouldn’t be that way.
On the day that I tossed and turned, I decided to get up from my bed, turn the light on and look at Houdi again. I took a deep breath, letting the oxygen clear up my lungs and heart. Then I looked into the mirror and smiled. I noticed that my smile isn’t permanent like Houdi’s because I have mixed emotions that make me human. Besides, Houdi is a perfect doll in a perfect world. I live in a world that has both the beautiful and the ugly. With that realization, my smile turned to a half-smile and I sighed.
To me, growing up entails accepting myself for who I am, including all my imperfections and flaws. I must look past my flaws and see the deeper meaning behind them in order to understand them. That is what will bring self-acceptance. Clearly, self-acceptance is one of the hardest parts of being human, but when I look at Houdi, of course she accepts herself. She is perfect and has nothing to worry about.
To grow up, I must also understand my power as a woman. Being a woman can be overwhelming since you have to do so many things all at once. To be a woman, I need to be on point, because if I’m not, I’ll end up on an emotional rollercoaster. Since being a woman means going through obstacles, overcoming internal and external body changes, and making sure you’re efficient, responsible and confident, I need to make sure I’m enhancing my lifestyle, practicing self-care, seeking therapy and actually putting in hard work to become the best version of myself. The best things in life don’t come easy, and I have to put in the work to make sure I get what I want.
As a person with various mental health conditions, it’s hard for me to keep up with everything all the time, but giving back is my destiny and fate. For this reason, self-care is really important to me.
Aside from self-care, when I’m working on bettering myself, sometimes I forget that it’s progress that’s important, not perfection. To be the best version of myself, I’m not supposed to be perfect, but as a woman, I often feel like I have to appear this way to be accepted and validated in society. Whether it’s the way I look, my manners or the way I live, I think being perfect means I’ll never be humiliated by people. Constantly, I become exhausted from moving around in circles, trying to approach perfection. It’s like jumping and then having to slow down again because you feel overwhelmed from trying so hard. This is the main reason growing up has sometimes been a difficult experience for me.
It’s not like this for Houdi; she has it all easy. All she needs to do is sit down, smile and live the day.
Healing with God at my side
The first time I struggled with growing up was when I was 20 years old. I was stuck, lost and confused. I didn’t know what I wanted or who I was, and how to get better or seek help. I also didn’t really have a life outside of the internet. I didn’t have any friends and I was too depressed to enjoy time with my family.
Social media made me feel insecure and like my life was nothing. I became lonely, because it made me isolate myself from everyone. I had a good life, but I was too numb and in my own bubble to see it, and I didn’t know how to get over that wall that I’d built all around me. At that time, I was hospitalized, and this was an important journey for me to take in order to grow up. I had to learn some things the hard way.
Houdi wasn’t with me during my hospitalization. Usually, I’m home with her and she’s always around, but at the hospital, it was different. I had no part of my childhood with me there, and I felt lost. The hospital room had no curtains like my white transparent ones at home that let the light shine in. The floor was wooden, unlike the soft brown carpet in my room. From the window, I couldn’t see my backyard, just more of the hospital. There were no stuffed animals with me, either, and everything was white with no patterns or designs like the ones my bedsheets and quilts at home have.
I always need him, but God comes even closer in the toughest of times.
Here, people were being healed. There was no smiling Houdi to brighten the day, but mainly people were grieving and comforting each other for their loss.
Going there happened all too fast, but during my stay at the hospital, God was there with me and never left my side. He was even closer than usual because I was far from my family and needed him more. Of course, I always need him, but God comes even closer in the toughest of times.
Through this experience, I realized how fortunate I am for the people in my life that make it worthwhile: my family. If I didn’t go to the hospital, I wouldn’t have learned from other people’s struggles and hardship, and I wouldn’t have realized just how grateful I should be. God showed me that my prayers are being answered and that he knows each and every weight I put on myself. Most importantly, he taught me the steps I need to nourish myself so I can flourish in the long run.
When I discovered and experienced God’s love, I actually began to grow, and I ached to live a better life with more purpose. Right there at the hospital is where God changed me, but in order to wrestle with growing up, I had to experience several mental breakdowns that led me to spiritually transform as a person.
So there I was at the hospital, far from my loved ones, my childhood and my home. I was sitting on the cold, hard floor and praying. I meditated while looking at the sun, hoping it would come closer and closer.
Overwhelmed with so many emotions, I looked all around me in an attempt to make sense of what was going on. “Why am I here?” I asked the reassuring voice inside my head.
“Because you have a big heart,” a voice told me. I felt this wave of peace overflowing inside me when I heard this answer. I no longer felt like there was anything wrong with me. I saw a world that was different from the social media society, a world where people truly cared and made me feel like I was valued. I realized what my life’s purpose and gift is: to spread love and happiness in whatever way I can to my loved ones and other people. My calling is to let my connection with God and others anchor me as I make a difference in the world.
Mental breakdowns aren’t necessary for everyone, but for me it was necessary to have them, and because of this, I had to take high doses of medication and experience therapy to come to this point. Nonetheless, this made me stronger. It taught me that in order to grow up, one will come to their lowest point and experience a spiritual awakening, an enlivening experience through which one gains deep wisdom.
Everyone deserves to experience God’s love, and his love is always there. I’m grateful for all the steps I had to take to get to where I am now, even if it was really challenging, and I know there’s a lot more to be done.
Perfection doesn’t equal happiness
When I was young and playing with my smiling Houdi and my Barbie dolls, I thought that being perfect meant to be happy. Perfection made Houdi happy, so wouldn’t it make me happy, too? The perfect dollhouse, befriending Barbie dolls with party clothes, plastic skin with no wrinkles and a permanent smile.
As I get older, I’m realizing that’s not reality. Life is a mix of sadness and happiness, youth and age, pink and black, blue and yellow, green and grey. Now I see that this is what gives life meaning. A life without mistakes is a life with no progress and no emotion. One can’t feel happiness if they don’t know pain.
Therefore, life isn’t always a party, it’s a mountain. I can take care of my skin, but I can’t run away from age. I can put a permanent smile on my face every day to make things better, but I can’t hide my true emotions by bottling them up. Through therapy, I learned that growing up requires me to be authentic and real so I can get the help I need to become a better individual. Then, the happiness I feel will be real and deep; it’ll allow me to be aware of all the emotions I’m feeling so I can make the good ones last.
When I hold onto God and surround myself with people that make me happy, like my friends and family, I’m happy eternally instead of just being pleased by the temporary pleasures of this world.
Also, as time passes by, I’m realizing that I don’t need external validation as much as I need internal validation. This means that in order to do important things, I need to empower myself to feel more positive.
Today, every time I look at Houdi, I remember feeding her, talking to her, buying her clothes and taking her out with me wherever I went, holding her hands or placing her on my lap. I used to think I’d be young forever like Houdi, but there isn’t sunshine without a little rain. Now, if anyone sees her, they’ll notice how even she looks tired and more faded than before. The only difference between her and a human is that she won’t be decaying within time.
Everyone in my family knows how much I love her. When I was a child, they would often ask, “How is Houdi doing?”
I would smile, giggle and say, “She’s good.” That’s what I would think, that she was always good and happy.
My family members would also give her a high-pitched, squeaky voice, and she’d tell me adorable things like “Mama, I’m hungry” or “I’m busy like Mama.”
In the present, although I’m not perfect like Houdi, her smiling through the ups and downs reminds me that everything will be OK. She has taught me the value of taking care of others and motherhood from a very young age. In a way, I learned to be responsible from her without even knowing it, because I played a part as her mother. She’s a valuable gift in my life because of the sweet memories that she brings me.
Now, I see why my Dad bought Houdi for me; he wants me to always be happy and soaring like her. Every parent wants that, and I choose to think that since I’m growing older now, I can remain optimistic and believe in myself through it all. No longer do I have to be perfect, but I can at least do this.
Houdi’s sweater
When my brother bought Houdi a sweater a few years back, which I put on her every winter, it fit her perfectly. The sweater is a mix of purple and blue, those colours the sky displays on special days. It’s hand-stitched with brown wooden buttons in the middle.
When I got this gift, it warmed my heart. How could this sweater fit her so perfectly? How can people have such a unique hobby as hand-stitching doll clothes? Houdi no longer needs to worry about her ripped sunflower dress, because she has this sweater.
The sweater is a significant part of my life because it reminds me that Houdi is important, not just to me but to everyone in my family as well. Her receiving a sweater as a gift has shown me that I don’t always know what life has in store. There’s always something new to come. It could be anything that brings a moment of discovery, such as a thoughtful smile, a letter, a card, a book, a treat or a song.
Receiving the tiny sweater for Houdi was a blessing that reminded me that even if certain things get older, they never lose value. For instance, Houdi and her dress have gotten older, but she still brings happiness and precious memories. This blessing also served as a revelation that we humans are extraordinary creatures created by God, just like how dolls are created by humans.
Losing Houdi would be losing a valuable part of my childhood. It would be forgetting that I should pause, breathe and live in the moment once in a while. Likewise, if God were to lose a person like me, he’d be losing something important, too. He loves us just as we are, and only he is the perfect creator, not us.
I’m a work in progress
Due to my age, my mindset in relation to Houdi is beginning to change. When I was younger, my view of life was more naïve and innocent, and I thought that everything must be positive and perfect. As I’m getting older and wiser, I’m noticing that life requires age and experience.
I see that there may be some sorrow and pain, but there is also joy in growing up. In fact, there are no positives without some negatives to go along with them. All these imperfections turn into something beautiful, like diamonds from the dust. It’s a transitional phase, but as I seek to explore the world, meet people and reach my dreams, I’m realizing that there’s so much more to growing up than I originally thought.
Everything I do is for my family and to make them proud. This is what helps me become the best version of myself and grow.
I think the best part about growing up is that I can fly responsibly by taking care of my family, giving back to the world, seeing places and learning from people. Everything I do is for my family and to make them proud. This is what helps me become the best version of myself and grow, and through this I’ve realized that I don’t need to be perfect or have a perfect life in order to do the things I want. I can love this messy life I call mine. Besides, our flaws are what make us unique in this world. I can still laugh, smile and live my life like Houdi while growing up after all.
Optimism isn’t being perfect; it’s learning to be positive even through tough times and adversity.
Me and Houdi blow out our birthday candles together, burning off each rainbow flame wish by wish. I wish to count the moments, not the days, and to do my best instead of trying to be perfect. I wish to take care of myself well so I can do everything I want to do, like writing, making a difference in the world and taking care of others. I wish to love myself internally so I don’t need validation from other people. Most importantly, I wish to smile and live each day like my doll Houdi.
Now I know that there are miracles in growing up. To me, growing up is like going through the four seasons. Even now, I’m always seeking change. I’m changing every day, at every second and every minute. Evolving is a beautiful process, and I’m just a work in progress.
Me and Houdi have come a long way together and I can’t wait to see what the future has in store for both of us.
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