Estefanie Paje

Section 1:
Religious practices are meant to be done out of a love for God. They are not meant to be practiced for any other reason – tradition, habit, and especially not for self-gain or for praise from men. This does not mean that these motives are non-existent for some people. People practice their religion for reasons far from a love for God (or a god). They then begin to live in a world of lies. At many points in my life, that was the world I lived in.

Growing up in a Christian home and in a Christian school, the Catholic tradition of lent was foreign to me. My family-friends practiced it every year from preschool up… although I never realized it until the seventh grade. A morning radio show had introduced me to the concept of lent – giving up something for 40 days in remembrance of what Christ gave up on the cross as well as His 40 days in the desert. One of the Catholic co-hosts challenged his listeners to give up some sort of junk food for 40 days “It’ll be a challenge. Just test it out and see if you can make it. If you do, you won’t be disappointed with the results.”

I attempted to practice lent and take on the challenge. It was not as fun as anticipated. The challenge, however, was surely there. Being the only one practicing lent in the school, many teased and tempted me with junk food. I cracked and gave up within the first two weeks.
It was not until the 8th grade that I began using lent as a diet plan. I was perfectly fine with my body until I took someone’s fat joke to heart. It was then I decided my body wasn’t good enough. I began to see fat and bulges, although everyone claimed they weren’t there.
My whole family would disapprove of giving up sweets if I told them, and they would force me to eat. That was the last thing I wanted. When I told my God-loving Catholic aunts about my decision to participate in lent, they were overjoyed. My parents were a different story. It took a lot of talk for my aunts to convince my parents that the lent was okay and that it wasn’t a form of dieting but of praising God.

At this point, I was convinced that in my dieting I was glorifying God because I was doing it during lent. This is what I told everyone, even my closest friend. I told them it was only temporary, but even after lent was over, the diet wasn’t. Meals were skipped. Calories were counted. Gum and water replaced any stomach craving I ever had. I knew dieting was bad, but as long as I convinced myself, and others, that I was doing it out of a love for God - it became "okay."

Section 2:
If you drive on the I-5 North from the Southside of San Diego to the central area, you’ll see a change of scenery within five minutes. The Southside area, National City, is currently undergoing a “beautify the ghetto” sort of project, and the city is generously offering their time and money to make National City more eye-pleasing.

That seems to be all anything is about – how good it looks. The closer things are to perfect, the more beautiful and pleasing it is. People are constantly striving for perfection, especially in areas people can see.

Front yards in richer neighborhoods are by far the cleanest and most kempt part of the home. Any dead piece of a plant is up and out of the way before anyone notices. The grass is cut evenly and then ruffled so no one can tell where the lawn mower’s wheels have been. Flowers in flower beds are evenly spaced apart and are in a palette of colors which, not only go well with the plants around it, but also with the shade of the house.

No sign of inconsistency is ever found. And now, here I am, looking in the mirror seeing inconsistencies in my face and in my body. My cheeks are too fat. My eyes are too big, and one is higher than the other. My waist is too small and my hips are too big. My rowdy childhood play has left its fair share of marks on me as well. I am not without blemish. I cannot even compare to the perfection obtained by a front yard. Does this mean I’m not beautiful?

Section 3:
I was born on March 7, 1990. The third of four children and my parents' only daughter.
My relationship with my parents is a mix of what the average American would expect. It goes to neither extreme. We aren't open and close. We aren't distant and secretive. This parent-to-child relationship is the same with all four children. Some people feel bad for us because we don't talk openly with our parents. I, for one, see nothing wrong with it. You will never really learn anything unless you make your own mistakes. Regardless of how much (or how little) we talk, my parents look after and support their children with an endless supply of "TLC" (tender love and care). My relationship with my brothers is slightly different. We go to each other when we need help, whether it be in life or in homework. We hang out when we feel we must. That's about it.

Love is the center of our family. Fighting is frowned upon. To my knowledge, my parents fought only once in my life. When they fought, they didn't even yell. They gave each other the silent treatment. It was the only time I was truly scared out of my mind. My brothers and I have become so accustomed to a peaceful home that we'd rather walk away and let the situation get cold than sit there and argue about who should get the remote. If we're feeling smart, we'll heed each other's warnings and back off. After all, why waste time fighting when you can get up and move on with life? Our unspoken rule is as follows: "Get up. Get over it. Move on... if you do happen to fight, don't waste time saying sorry. It reopens the argument. Simply act as if it never happened."

Section 4:
There weren't too many children in my neighborhood to play with. If my brothers and I did happen to find some, our parents weren't likely to allow us to play with them for one reason or another. "They're bad." "It's too cold outside." "It's too hot outside." "It's too dark." Yadi yadi yadda...

The only children we were allowed to play with were our friends at school (but we could play ONLY at school) and our family friends (whom we were allowed to play with at any and every get together). The get togethers are my favorite and most cherished childhood memories. Upon arrival, all the children would run into the guest room and turn off all the lights. We'd close the blinds and fill any gap that allows light into the room. We loved playing in the dark. Something about it fascinated us. At the time we didn't know what it was. Looking back, I think I have an idea.

It may have been that we enjoyed not knowing where we were going. We were scared to death that the candy man or someone with a chainsaw would pop out up out of nowhere and take us away. We'd hold on tightly to each other, unless of course, one of the rules of the game was that we couldn't travel in packs. The goal of the game was usually to find something. It could be a game of hide and go seek or find the spoon or flashlight. Whatever it was, there we achieved a sense of accomplishment when we found what we were looking for. We wandered around the unknown not knowing where we were going, just that there was something for us to find.

Section 5:
My grandmother is the most beautiful woman on earth, both inside and out. Most would ask why I didn't give my own mother this title. The reason is, my mother is a carbon-copy of my grandmother. It was from my grandmother that my mom learned to be the woman she is today.

My grandmother, or Lola Earling as we all call her, has been taking care of families since her mom passed away. She first began taking care of her siblings and her father. When she got older and started her own family, she managed to raise four children in her household in her husband's absense, which was most of the time due to his work. Even after her children had grown up and started their own families, she still served them by taking care of their children. All in all, she took care of three generations of our family.

My Lola and my Lolo were both petitioned to come to the US in the year 2001. By this time, my brothers and I were old enough to take care of ourselves and our household. We no longer allowed her to clean our bathrooms, our rooms, or comb our hair. We could do that ourselves, but she still had a servant's heart. It didn't take her long to begin searching for a job in which she could serve others. Eventually, she settled on being a live-in caretaker for the mentally ill. Right now, she's over 70 years old and still willing to take care of people. I don't think there was any time in her life that she has allowed anyone to really take care of her. She doesn't find joy in being taken care of. She finds joy in taking care of others. She probably always will.