Worthy of Love
by Amanda Shaw

"I come tough, rough like an elephant tusk/ blow dust in your face like Egyptian musk."
-Ghost Face Killa, 36 Chambers

The thought that I look absolutely ridiculous at rap concerts has crossed my mind more than once in my eight years of concert going. At five feet tall, one hundred pounds, and a shade of white reminiscent of Casper the Friendly Ghost (I like to say the winters on the plains of Siberia bleached the skin of my Russian forebears), I have to admit I am probably not the most likely candidate to be thrashing my right arm up and down to the rhymes of Xhibit, Tech N9ne, or their contemporaries. At an adaptation of Shakespeare's "Hamlet", entitled "Hamlet X", I even found myself likening the iambic pentameter of the Elizabethan age to the steady off-on boom box beat found in the background of most early 90's hip-hop. Believe it or not, I identify with rappers of many of the ideas expressed via mad rhyme skill; most salient of these is a craving for respect. My entire life, I have felt most people don't give credence to my ideas or opinions; growing up, my classmates barely noticed the white trash kid who had never vacationed in Europe or even Mexico . What did I know about the "real world"? Likewise, my family labeled me as "that girl with no common sense". Since they perceived me as thoughtless, my opinions ultimately earned the same weight (or lack thereof) at home as they did in the classroom. In time, I found it more conducive, i.e. easier, to play along and be what others expected of me because in a lot of ways it simplified my existence. It was no longer necessary for me to prove I understood or was capable of doing something; they already imagined I was not, and failing to correct them simply meant one less thing to do. Similarly at school, I found having "the reduced lunch" stigma comforting in the almost tranquil isolation and polite silence it awarded me. Eventually, I decided even if I did understand or have some sort of stunningly insightful comment, I preferred not having anyone know it.

As a result, in an attempt to avoid what I considered unnecessary confrontations and potentially awkward social situations, I pulled what I call a Wu-Tang. Wu-Tang, short for the Wu-Tang Clan, is a rap group; their motto is "Dawn the Mask". So when I say I have pulled a Wu-Tang, I have "dawned the mask", what I mean is: I have surreptitiously solicited from others their expectations of me, fulfilling them to the best of my ability upon discovery. Put more simply, I tried to give everyone what I thought they wanted from me. Since I imagined various figures in my life sought out different attributes in me, I attempted to satisfy each individual, dawning myriad masks. For example, my brother Andrew saw in me an ally against orthodoxy and everything it embodied. He saw I me a fellow "gangsta". And with him I was. My mother saw in me her second chance to live the life she gave up to get married at the age of nineteen; I was her diligent student and state-debate champion. And with her I was. Although I could endlessly list different people in my life, what they wanted from me, and how I attempted to appease them, that's not what this story is about. Rather, I hope I have described successfully the circumference of my life for its first nineteen years. For as long as I can remember I have found it nearly impossible to be who I felt and still feel I really "am". The number of people who knew, for lack of a better cliché, "the real me", were pitifully few.

Perhaps this desire to simply give-in and be what people wanted could be seen by others as ego-centric; I imagined myself as such a fundamental part in the lives of those close to me, the idea of anyone's life going on without me or while being upset with me was simply out of the question. But I don't think this was the case. One could also infer from this, perhaps, that I am manipulative, that I purposefully misled others for my own advantage. If anything, I think it was the other way around. For as long as I can remember, I have guilty and don't know why, felt I had to prove I was worthy of love (this is ironic because "worthy of love" is what my name means in Greek, thus the title of this paper), but was never sure to whom. By working so hard to make people content, I felt it enabled me to receive affection without "owing" anything. I just wanted everyone to be happy as often as possible because I thought it would make me happier as well in the end.

Here was my standing at the end of my senior year of high school: I was secretly engaged to my boyfriend of two-and-a-half years. We were planning on getting married after I earned my B.A. That summer was one of the best of my life. I loved my friends, my walks everyday with my dog, sleeping in. I went to Universal Studios in Los Angeles , snorkeling in Miyakojima in Japan , hiking in Montana . On the few days I had no goals needing to be accomplished and no pressing obligations, I lay in the sun and read.

That September brought a mood so stark in contrast to the rest of the summer I'm not even sure how to describe it except to relay the events and explain them to the best of my ability. Although my fiancée/boyfriend and I had a sexual component to our relationship, I took what I imagined at the time to be the necessary precautions and fancied myself immune from undesirable consequences. My period came every fourth Wednesday; until that month. When day after day, my period failed to come I grew increasingly hysterical on a more-or-less hourly basis. I tried to go on with my life, struggled to get up and go to work, not do anything so erratic it would signal something was horribly wrong. I laid awake every night praying to God for hours on end that if I wasn't pregnant, I would completely change my ways; no more gossiping, no more judging others, and absolutely no more sex. My hands shook and I felt dizzy and sick and short of breath.

I wanted to die. But at the same time I wanted to keep living, to fix my mistakes, to "get it right". I wanted an abortion. Before September 2005, in spite of my mask habit, I had always prided myself on being so independent, so responsible, so wise-beyond-my-years. It didn't take me long to realize that knowing and understanding the potential consequences of my actions were two very different things.

There's a wicked sort of irony in losing everything you never knew you wanted, having things become clear just in time to watch all your dreams dissipate. When you think you're pregnant and you've decided you don't want to be, "it takes you out of your comfort zone" is the understatement of a lifetime. All of a sudden, you have to make a lot of major decisions really fast. When you're acting solely on internal reflexes, you tend to be surprised about what you learn about yourself. I decided I did not want to marry my fiancée, I wanted to live in Japan after college, I had no idea if I ever wanted any children because the thought of motherhood terrified me, I valued education a thousand times more than I ever thought, I was not content with mediocrity, I wanted my freedom, I wanted out of Spokane, and most importantly I wanted to be me, no more masks. Suddenly I felt like I had wasted almost all of my first nineteen years of existence, squandered them because I was too scared of day-to-day living. Ironically, it was at this time I decided I was stronger than I ever imagined.

It turned out I was not pregnant, but the thought of going on living like I had before was unbearable. I didn't want to hide anymore, either from myself or others. At some point during the worst ten days of my life (I can't pinpoint the exact second), I concluded one could not live one's entire life entire life in Wu-Tang mode.

I was scared to write this paper, afraid of what people might think of me after reading it, afraid of how they would judge me. Certainly, I am not proud of what happened to me, I'm not attempting to glorify it here, but neither am I ashamed anymore. Similarly, while I wish I could un-do all of the stupid choices I made, they cost me my relationship with the only person I ever almost loved, part of me is grateful for it all because of the end result. Do my ends justify my means? I don't know, but I felt this was something I had to write regardless of the existence of a moral lesson if anyone wants to have any idea about me.

Now I come to the table knowing who I am, what I want, and the belief that I am honestly capable of anything. I bring the street smarts of Coolio's "Gangsta's Paradise " juxtaposed with my father's temper, my mother's dreams, my brother's humor, and my sister's faith. Thus far, I have been well-served intermittently by each. I never used to believe in defining moments because I never had one. Now that I have, I feel I must consider it as an integral part of who I am lest I take up yet another mask, this one worse because I wear it against myself. I bring an unquenchable thirst to be me.

I still love the Wu-Tang Clan, J-5, RunDMC, Dangermouse, the Beastie Boys, and countless others. I know how tempting it can be to "dawn the mask", am fully aware of the seduction of minimized pain. I still smile and make my "Wu" sign, and I'd be lying if I said I'll never dawn another mask again. But now I know how to take it off. As for the respect, I now hold enough of it for myself I can meet any gaze and be so proud of who I am, whether or not the person staring back respects me.

~Amanda Shaw was born in Spokane , WA . She graduated from Lewis and Clark High School in 2005. Currently a student at Fairhaven College , she is attempting to compose a concentration of Japanese language and culture and Arabic. Amanda wants anyone who reads her piece to know everyday she is so thankful to be alive and so happy.