Christian Best

Robert Arnold

UWRT 1101

10 September 2015

Literacy Narrative

When an individual thinks about what it means to be literate, they automatically think

about being able to read and write. That isn’t a completely wrong assumption. Being able to read

and write does classify a person as literate. But there is also another form of being literate.

Becoming literate in a subject can also mean becoming knowledgeable and educated in a

particular subject. If a person doesn’t have any hobbies, doesn’t participate in any sports, and

really doesn’t get involved in many extracurricular activities, what subject can they possibly

become literate in? Being that I am that person, I can tell you: that person becomes literate in

one’s self.

Becoming literate in one’s self sounds like an easy task but it can be quite a strenuous

journey. It’s not a journey that everyone embarks on because it’s not just about knowing your

own background and history. Becoming literate in yourself is about getting to know yourself,

learning to be confident, and believing that you can take on the journey of life no matter how

hard it gets. Everyone doesn’t have the strength to do these things. Some individuals never learn

who they truly are, inside and out. It takes time, facing the truth, and having faith to really

discover yourself. And that’s exactly what it took for me.

I should first begin by explaining the person I was before explaining the person I became.

Growing up I was a quiet child that never caused trouble. Picture a little girl with lots of hair

bows and ponytails. This little girl would wake up every morning, grab her pacifier, watch a

couple episodes of Dora the Explorer, and go hide in the kitchen cabinet until her mom came and

found her. That little girl was who I was, I was extremely quiet and shy. My mother and Dora the

Explorer were the only two people I felt comfortable talking to. I rarely spoke to my dad and

older brother, even though we all resided together. That shy and quiet little kid grew into a very

shy and emotionally detached teenager.

My teenage years were the most difficult for me. My major problem was dealing with my

emotions, or lack thereof, and the fact that I enjoyed being alone. Whenever I tell people I was

emotionally detached they usually jump to the conclusion that I was depressed and sad, but that

wasn’t the case at all. I wasn’t depressed or lonely, I was just very nonchalant and very bad at

forming emotional connections with people. You know how some men tell their sons that it is

considered weak to cry and show people your emotional side? That was very similar to my own

personal mindset. I felt when people publicly showed their emotions, they exposed themselves

and showed themselves as weak. Therefore showing emotions, feeling empathy, and having

sympathy were completely forbidden for me. Having this mindset made forming friendships and

relationships really difficult.

Because I couldn’t naturally form friendships with people, I began forcing friendships

into place. This took place during middle school, this was the point where I really lost touch with

who I was. I kept conforming to fit in with the crowd. If everyone was wearing a certain brand, I

had that exact same brand. If everyone was making fun of a certain person, I was right behind

them laughing. I knew my actions weren’t always right but I desired to be accepted. I thought I

needed to be loved by these people because I thought they were my friends. I quickly learned the

difference between friends and social associates around December of 2010.

The process of learning who I was and who I wanted to become began after that

December. December 11, 2010 is the day my mother told me my grandfather had died. Have you

ever had your feelings hurt? Have you ever been punched so hard that it felt like your breath has

exited your body? You ever stubbed your toe and you felt really angry? You ever felt really

frustrated because you couldn’t have something that you wanted so desperately? That hurt, that

breathlessness, that anger, that frustration, that is every emotion that coursed through me when I

heard those words, “your grandfather just died”.

My grandfather was more than just a grandfather to me. My grandfather was my

motivation, my encouragement, my reason to keep going, my heart, he became everything to me.

My grandfather was the first man I ever loved and trusted. I never imagined I would live in a

world without him. He is the reason I stand on the ground of a college university today. He kept

me striving in school and in life. He taught me that it was okay to have goals and to reach those

goals. Losing him made me feel like my world was crashing around me and I just had to stand

and watch it crumble at my feet. At this point I felt I needed a shoulder to cry on, so I turned to

my “friends”. Except my friends weren’t there for me. The one moment, actually the only

moment, I needed them they left me to deal with life alone. That’s the moment I realized that

maybe I was better off alone and the process began.

I have a big heart. I am very caring. I live to help other people. I am terribly wise for my

age. I am overly emotional. I am extremely corny and silly. I am terribly clumsy and a potential

hazard to myself. I have the most obnoxious laugh and I usually laugh in the most inappropriate

moments. I believe hugs can fix everything even though I still guard my heart from the outside

world. I can be very annoying but also easily annoyed. I’m very sweet until someone makes me

mad.

Now you must wonder how I can easily recall these major characteristics. Alone time is

the answer. When I say alone I’m not referring to the padded-white cell, solitary alone. I’m

referring to the alone time that makes an individual become in tune with their mind, body, and

soul. Imagine a 95 pound, 13 year old girl in khakis with a very bushy ponytail. That girl never

went out of her way to talk to other people but she was still a friendly person. She would spend

most of her time getting lost in a book. She started spending all of her extra school time in the

library, just so she wouldn’t have to interact with other people. She would blast music through

her headphones at any given moment of the day. Loner, hermit, lone wolf, reclusive, that became

her new identity, meaning that became my new identity.

I fell in love with that new identity because it made me fall in love with the person I was.

I loved being alone. Being alone taught me to make decisions on my own. It also became the

moment in the day where I would think, reflect, and evaluate. Whether I was thinking about my

day, the personality of a new character in a novel, or if I was inventing fantasy scenarios in my

mind, my alone time became my favorite time of the day.

Within those hours of the day, listening to music, reading books, and dancing in circles in

the middle of my bedroom floor is how I learned who I was. Reading about how Percy Jackson

could learn to love and forgive a Greek God, who was also his father that he had never met,

made me realize that I was compassionate and sympathetic. Listening to India Arie sing about

not shaving her legs and remembering to love herself no matter what, made me realize that I still

love myself whether or not I have the acceptance of others. Trying to match the lyrics and

aggression of Kayne West yelling about how he is a monster, made me realize that I am

definitely not meant to be a rapper. Choreographing my own personal dance while Destiny’s

Child pants and screams about losing their breath, made me realize that I have the worst

coordination and I possess no rhythm at all. Dreaming and fantasizing about coming home to a

husband, three very cheerful children, and living in an insanely beautiful house, made me realize

that one day I did want to experience being in love and sharing a life with someone special.

Being alone wasn’t depressing and sad, being alone was never lonely, being alone was

therapeutic, amazing, and the absolute best thing I could have ever learned to do.