<p>Well, here it is guys! Give all of the comments/suggestions/constructive criticism you'd like! Thank you all in advance!
Enjoy :)</p>
<p>Prompt: Recount an incident or time when you experienced failure. How did it affect you, and what lessons did you learn?</p>
<p>All eyes were on me. Suddenly, I heard a pop.
I was standing in front of my classmates when my little red ladybug clip flew across the room. My curls sprang out from every direction, and my uncontrollable head of hair was revealed. I ran back to my desk and desperately tried to pull back my mess of curls with a stray rubber band. However, my curls wanted out, and the flimsy rubber band snapped under the stress.
In that moment, I had my very first run-in with failure.
I used to be a six-year-old star (At least I had thought I was that fateful day, anyway.).
It was the first day of first grade, and I was more than ready to make my celebrity appearance at school. My personal assistant was waiting for me with a bowl of oatmeal and an outfit that I had carefully selected the previous night. I strutted around my room wearing my new red dress, red shoes, and sparkly red purse. Most importantly, however, was my ladybug clip holding my hair into place. It was nuzzled comfortably into my bed of curls. I spent several minutes that morning in front of the mirror fitting every fractal of frizz into that pin. I made sure that my hair was held down tightly, as I did not want any of my light-faced friends to see my huge head of hair. If no one could tell that I had curly hair, I thought, they will think that I am a star. I headed to the corner of my street to find paparazzi already waiting for me: they sported "World's #1 Mom" sweatshirts, held cameras, and were asking me all kinds of questions such as,
"Are you excited for your first day?"
"Will you stand with so-and-so to take a picture?"
Finally, my yellow stretch limo arrived, and I was on the way to my first-day premiere.
I truly did feel like a star. My new classroom was my stage, complete with fluorescent spotlights and a linoleum runway. I even had my very own desk with a custom-made name tag. One by one, each child took a turn to present a show-and-tell item to the class. It was my turn to present my item, the red purse, and I was standing center stage. It was my time to shine.
Then, it happened.
I no longer wanted to be in the spotlight. I did not want an audience anymore. My hair did not want me to be a star. I remember crying and wishing that I had a long, silky flaxen mane like that of all of my friends. As I was already the only student of color, I did not want to be different.
Now looking back, I realize that I was too young to understand that my success in the spotlight was not based upon my curls being confined or the color of my skin. Instead, the ladybug-clip-popping incident had taught me to stand up and to stand out, to embrace my authenticity, to share my opinions fearlessly- to set my hair free.
In a sense, I am still a celebrity. I am president of my high school's Gay-Straight Alliance, and by sharing my own story of who I am, I have set an example for those who have yet to "set their hair free"- those who are not yet able to be proud of their curls, to be proud of what makes them different. I want everyone to know that by learning to love my curls, my sexuality, and the color of my skin, I have learned to love myself.
Sometimes when my curls will not cooperate, I smile, think back to that day, and realize that a flimsy ladybug clip (and a mere bad hair day) could never make me any less of a star.</p>