The Making of the Sun

One of my favorite photos of me as a child was me standing in a flower print dress in my childhood backyard. I have the biggest smile, the same smile I still get every time the warmth of the illuminating sun hits my skin, and my gapped buck teeth push out unabashedly. This photo is still on my mom’s fridge and I can’t help but feel connected to that younger version of me, if only for a second, each time I see it. I have always been captivated by flowers, the way they draw in hummingbirds, sweet bees, and butterflies. When I think of resilience, what comes to my mind is a vibrant garden and every season it has gone through to get to its glistening ethereal state. I think each of us has a garden within us, in our inner landscape. We encounter emotional states in the same way gardens encounter volatile weather. How we take care of ourselves, in how we speak and show up for ourselves directly impacts our garden’s health. Likewise, I relate my queerness to the magic and vibrancy of a garden. I am inspired by each flower’s act of courage, rebellion, and brilliance to express itself fully and shamelessly.

The garden as an emblem of resilience emerged for me as I grew through depression. Growing up, being the big sister to a special needs brother was my largest source of love, care, protectiveness, and challenge. From as young as I can remember, I was reconciling the co-existence of love and violence. This role watered a lot of empathy and compassion in me, qualities I am very appreciative for. With the abrupt changes following my parent’s divorce, while simultaneously struggling to find a sense of belonging, insecurity filled the holes that were once filled by my self-assuredness. I became very shy and I felt invisible to the people around me. Depression didn’t feel like a visitor that one day showed up on my doorstep. It felt much more inconspicuous, slowly accumulating until I felt far removed from myself, like I watched day by day a boat drifting off that had my sense of self on it. My enthusiasm for life had vanished and I felt entirely disconnected to myself. Depression took the sun out of my sky.

A place I found solace was in nature. I didn’t feel the need to perform when I was amongst the douglas fir, ferns, and humming streams. I felt in silent, affirming conversation with the life around me. I felt peaceful, contemplative, and alive. As a child I hiked a lot with my dad.
His presence blended into the forest, because he too is a non-judgemental, gentle, and quiet
presence. He was who I was most talkative with, he was a sound board for all of my thoughts,
questions, and dreams. I chose UCSD because I loved the Anthropology: Climate Change and
Human Solutions major. This tied my fascination with how different cultures perceive our
relationship to the natural environment and my motivation for a multidisciplinary approach to
climate change mitigation. My passion for Sustainability and conserving biodiversity has
blossomed more and more throughout my life, giving me direction and motivation to protect
what has saved me and sustained me physically and spirituality.

When I was 17, in a pile of unread books I found In The Heart of the Buddha’s Teachings
by Thich Nhat Hanh. I remember all of the Spring days I laid out on the trampoline in my
backyard, with my arms outstretching this red and golden book, with the pages oriented to block
the sun from my eyes. The teachings in this book were pivotal in me learning how to sit with
painful emotions, deeply appreciate the temporary beauty of the people and life around me, and
practice letting go. In Buddhism, the lotus signifies rising from suffering and the darkness of the
mud with a pure heart intact. Hence, on the cover of the poetry book I chose to put a woman
sitting on a risen lotus. To me, Buddhism feels like a soft lily pad to land on, that is a space for
me to practice self-compassion and being truly present. At this time, I began writing poetry and I
learned so much about myself. It gave me a vehicle for self-exploration, creativity, and the
rawest form of truthful dialogue with myself. My poems time stamp my journey to self-knowing
and self-love. Out of moments alone writing in my room, emerged the experience of me learning
to love my own company and find pride in what I create. From this grew a dream to create a
poetry book one day.

My art piece is a collection of poems that pull from the themes of seeing myself reflected
in nature, watering my relationships with loved ones, and growing through depression. I begin
with To Stop the Sky from Crying, written about my mother. Through this poem, I try to articulate
my simultaneous admiration for my mother and my heart ache once I was old enough to
comprehend her grief. It reveals the complex dynamic of being a child, but feeling responsible
and desperate to alleviate a parent’s suffering. My poem Escapism represents the disconnect
and discomfort I had within myself during my season of depression, which manifested as a
pervasive sense of unease. It shows the process of self-abandonment that disintegrates self
worth, leading me to seek external validation. I believe to be able to love someone we need to
understand them, and this includes ourselves. Soul to Soul was written once I looked inward
and understood what makes me who I am, a lot of which is reflected in what I love in nature.
New Garden demonstrates my reclaimed confidence from choosing to accept myself in my
entirety. I end the poetry collection with To Be Free, which describes my appreciation for the
adversities I have overcome and a loving extension to my younger self who was still finding her
way.

Art continues to be a space of refuge and inward exploration for me. Art is a special
place where imagination, intimacy, honesty, and vulnerability meet. Resilience to me is the
commitment and courage to seek beauty in the grimmest, dimmest situations. Sometimes light
can not readily be found and instead needs to be sought or created. When I couldn’t see the
sun, I kept searching for it. I searched for it in small interactions, in my morning tea, and on
afternoon walks. I took care of myself until it returned. Resilience is my active decision to not
self-abandon and instead gather my suffering and my joy in my hands and embrace my whole
self. A garden is a site of beauty, adaptability, and creation. Gardens have taught me to make
where I am beautiful. I have learned that through a practice of gratitude, cherishing my
relationships, and actively creating meaning, life in all of its astonishing forms will come to me,
the same way bees instinctively know to seek hone