DRAFT #1

“You know, when you go through any kind of difficult experience, you have a choice. I mean, you can let it break you and embitter you. Or you can take whatever you’ve experienced, whatever pain or suffering, and decide that you’re still going to have faith, your faith in God, your faith in your fellow man; that you’re still going to believe that you can make a contribution to a better life. It’s a choice. Every single day we wake up, you can choose to be cynical or hopeful. You can choose to be grateful or contemptuous. You can make all those choices. And for me, it’s not a very hard choice.” — Hillary Clinton

Life. What is Life? Is it when a sperm meets an egg? Or an infinite number of atoms constantly moving? Is it a puzzle with missing pieces? Maybe it’s a maze of doors which offers a series of choices and you must determine the right one? I was never really curious about the meaning of life, until that one day the question hit my curiosity. This was the day I experienced a death in my family. On August 6, 1997, I lost my 19-year-old sister, a victim of a drunk driving accident. This experience first left me bitter towards life. There were two choices: letting it embitter me or making me hopeful.

It’s like you have your Life planned in a certain way; you have plans of growing out of high school and receiving your diploma…looking forward to the day you move away to college. Finally, meeting the man of your dreams, getting married and having children. As much as you have Life planned and organized, nothing goes the way you have it planned. Right when you think that everything is perfect, the unexpected arises. Just as you think the bumpy road is smoothening out, a nail pops your tire. Or just as you’ve almost completely finished a thousand piece puzzle you notice that a piece is missing.

After the death of my sister I believed that I had lost my mind. My father always had an explanation for any question I ever asked him. The day I asked my father, “Why us?” and “Where has she gone?” I received a silent pause and a hidden tear drop rolled off of his cheek. When I didn’t receive an explanation or some sort of relieving answer, I figured that my Life was about to change. Soon I was about to be looked upon as the older sister. I was the second mother to my little sister. Instead of being the follower, I was being followed. Rather than coping with the death of my sister through a psychologist, my parents wanted me to get involved in religion. In an effort to avoid send me to a psychologist, my parents dragged me along in attending religious satsungs. From a young age I was never really introduced to the concept of faith. I began attending special services and listened to the preaching of a faith similar to Hinduism. It is a faith that is scientifically proven, with fact, answers and questions. I overcame my need for a psychologist and devoted a great piece of my time to listening and understanding the facts.

It took a while, but it happened, after time spent listening and understanding, I awoke hopeful. Rather than grieving about what had happened to me, I decided to move on and learn how I could deal with what had happened to me. Through my faith I learned that each of us is alive in the world to do something. Nothing in this world is just here; everything and everyone has a reason. From the first breath, one begins a journey of karma. I found that Life is like a play, there are entrances and exits. We are not always the directors of our lives.

One of the only tasks you have once you’ve taken that first breath is to sit back and watch the play. No matter what you do, you cannot make a character disappear nor can you make one stay. When the director calls the cue to leave the stage, there is nothing more you can do than watch their final steps off the stage.
As much as you yell or throw things, the fact is, it is going to happen the way it was planned. Still, there is hope. If you want to change the end of the play, you can become the director. To run things the way we want, we must be the directors of our own lives. With hard work and motivation we can achieve our own endings. As theater is my greatest passion and something that I understand in all aspects, I like to use this analogy as an approach to life. This approach to life makes questions that seem unanswerable clear to me.

Now my life has forever been changed. The death of my sister has shown me: Life is too precious to worry about trivial matters. Time is too unpredictable to put off great opportunities. Live Life in the present moment; the past belongs to memories, the future is long to anticipate. The only time I have is now. I’ll make goals for the future, but it’s up to destiny to take me to them. Rebelling against Life won’t bring my sister back. Turning against faith won’t do any good either. Learning from who she was and from what she has left will help bring out my sister in me, and more than anything, this is what will make me grow strong.

DRAFT #2

“You know, when you go through any kind of difficult experience, you have a choice. I mean, you can let it break you and embitter you. Or you can take whatever you’ve experienced, whatever pain or suffering, and decide that you’re still going to have faith, your faith in God, your faith in your fellow man; that you’re still going to believe that you can make a contribution to a better life. It’s a choice. Every single day we wake up, you can choose to be cynical or hopeful. You can choose to be grateful or contemptuous. You can make all those choices. And for me, it’s not a very hard choice.” — Hillary Clinton

UU's "A - B - D - C - E" COLOR-CODED KEY
A = Opening Action / B = Backfill /
D = Development / C = Climax / E = Evaluation

On August 6, 1997, I lost my 19-year-old sister to the poor choice and action of another -- she was the victim of a drunk driving accident.

This experience opened two alternatives in proceeding with my life: letting this incident embitter me towards life –or taking what had happened and using it to become a better person. Having a cynical perspective towards life was the easy way around, and that’s the way I wanted to go. On the other hand, deep down I knew that in the long run it wouldn’t be helpful to view life so cynically. It was difficult, but I made my choice and I believe I made the right one.

From a young age I was never introduced to the concept of faith. I was told that God existed and there was nothing more that I needed to know. Having not understood the reason of why God took away my sister I asked my father, "Why us?" and "Where has she gone?" After receiving no answer and believing that there were none, I had a nervous breakdown. I started to feel my life breaking and embittering itself. I rebelled against my parents, and refused listen to anyone. I lost control of my health by losing my appetite to eat. I had suffered with pain of losing the one I followed and looked up to. Soon I was about to be looked upon as the older sister. Instead of being the follower, I was being followed.
To make matters worse, my parent's solution for coping with my sister’s death seemed like superstition. Initially, in my bitterness, I believed that my parents were trying to cut corners by not sending me to a psychologist. Couldn't they see how much I needed therapy?

Instead I found myself in this place where everything was white, incense burned throughout the room, children were watching every word and movement that came out of Dada's lips. That day, I had a choice of waking up hopeful and having faith in God and faith in my fellow man. That day, I went home with an even more cynical perspective on life. He had told me that everything happened for the best and that it was meant to happen. This discouraged me more because it seemed as if he didn't care and he wasn't sad about the loss.

Through much convincing from my parents I decided to go back the next weekend to give it another chance. As I was about to zone out, he made up an analogy about Life that made me want to awake hopeful. Life is like a play, there are entrances and exits, we are not always the directors of our lives. One of the only tasks you have once you've taken that first breath is to sit back and watch the play. No matter what you do you cannot make a character disappear nor can you make one stay. When the director calls the cue to leave the stage, there is nothing more you can do than watch their final steps off the stage. These exits make up the story of life. As much as you yell or throw things at them, the fact is, it is going to happen the way it was planned. Still, there is hope: if you want to change the end of the play you can become the director. In order to run things the way we want to, we must be the directors of our own lives. With hard work and motivation, we can achieve great things, and the ending of the play will be up to us. It’s not until the fifth act will we understand the purpose of an event, but the knowledge of knowing that it'll be for the best is understandable.

The turning point to my skepticism and pain was my discovery that the concept of karma is a theatrical, dramatic one that I suddenly understood as tying into…MY LIFE'S TRUE PASSION: THEATER…This approach to life makes all those questions that seem unanswerable clear to me.

Now, the choice I made has forever changed my life. Life is too precious to worry about trivial matters. Time is too unpredictable to put off great opportunities. I had the opportunity of becoming bitter and resuming life as a bitter woman, and I also had the choice of having faith, being grateful or contemptuous, making a better contribution to a better life. Live life at the moment of time, the past are memories, the future is long to anticipate. I’m going to achieve all I can now and leave the rest up to tomorrow. I’ll make goals for the future, but it’s up to destiny to take me to them. Rebelling against life won’t bring my sister back. Turning against faith won’t do any good either. Learning from who she was and from what she has left will help bring out in me, the love and care for the world that she showed, and more than anything, this is what will make me grow strong.

UU TEMPLATE

“You know, when you go through any kind of difficult experience, you have a choice. I mean, you can let it break you and embitter you. Or you can take whatever you’ve experienced, whatever pain or suffering, and decide that you’re still going to have faith, your faith in God, your faith in your fellow man; that you’re still going to believe that you can make a contribution to a better life. It’s a choice. Every single day we wake up, you can choose to be cynical or hopeful. You can choose to be grateful or contemptuous. You can make all those choices. And for me, it’s not a very hard choice.” — Hillary Clinton

As a child, I was never introduced to the concept of faith. I was told that God existed and there was nothing more that I needed to know. On August 6, 1997, my nineteen- year-old sister died, the victim of a drunk driving accident. And, just like that! everything that I had ever cared about, all that had ever given me joy, seemed meaningless. What mattered to me most had always been the theater. To consider acting now? To engage in anything so frivolous as being in a play seemed to desecrate my sister's memory. "Why did God take away my sister," I bitterly asked my
father, "Why us?" "Where has she gone? There is no answer, is there?"

To make matters worse, my parents' solution to coping with my sister's death seemed to me the ultimate in superstition. For the first time, they had begun to attend satsungs, prayer meetings based on an Indian religious tradition I knew nothing of. "Next time, you're coming with us," they decreed.

"If you really cared about me, you'd take me to a good psychiatrist instead of this Dada guy you're suddenly so keen about," I raged... Instead I found myself in this place (a little more specific) where everything was white, and the heavy scent of burning incense filled the room. ( Describe Dada: did he wear any sort of prayer robe?) "Everything happens for the best," he said. "Everything that happens, happens for a reason." That day, I went home with an even more cynical perspective on life. When Dada
spoke of death, he was not even sad.

Through much convincing from my parents I grudgingly returned to a second satsung, determined to spend the time tuning Dada out. Then he said the words that for the first time in many months banished bitterness and made me choose to wake up hopeful.

"Life is a like a play," he said. "There are entrances and exits. We are not always the directors of our lives. One of the only tasks you have, once you have drawn your first breath, is to sit back and watch the play. No matter what you do, you cannot make a character disappear, nor can you make one stay. When the director calls the cue to leave the stage," he continued, "there is nothing more you can do than watch their final steps off the stage. These exits make up the story of life. As much as you yell or throw things, the fact is, it is going to happen the way it was planned. Still, there is hope. If you want to change the end of your own life drama, you can become its director. In order to run things the way we want to, we must be the directors of our own lives. With hard work and motivation, we can achieve great things. Ultimately, the ending of the play is up to us. Not until the fifth act do we understand the purpose of an event. We call this understanding of our purpose, 'karma,' our acting out our role in our life's drama."

And just like that, it all was crystal clear. My sister's death did not mean I had to renounce my life's true passion: theater. Just the opposite! The theater was my karma. When Dada blessed me afterwards, I could read it in his eyes.

Life is too precious to worry about trivial matters. Time is too unpredictable to put off great opportunities. The only time I have is now. I'm going to achieve all I can now. Rebelling against Life won't bring my sister back; turning against faith won't do any good either...