Living and dreaming

As a third grader, I was diagnosed with Duchenne Muscular Dystrophy, a genetic condition that slowly weakens the body's muscles during the course of one's life. At the time, I didn't think much of it. I was young and didn't understand the implications facing me. I was able to walk and run just like the other students at my elementary school, so I wasn't worried in the least. I was a sixth grader when it was revealed that my condition would ultimately prove fatal, and I was not expected to live much past my late 20s or early 30s. On the one hand, I was devastated by hearing this; I did not understand why I deserved such a fate. Yet, on the other hand, I was still numb to what I had heard and thought it would be a long time before I'd have to worry about any momentous questions of life and death.

By my freshman year in high school, I could no longer walk and had to go into a wheelchair permanently. It was then that I began to think about my own mortality with greater frequency. What would happen to me? What did the future hold? Did I even dare to dream? I had great doubts that I would ever have a career or a family, let alone the ability to support myself. While others were becoming more independent, quite the opposite was happening to me. Hearing people discuss their college plans and beyond was difficult for me. I recall a particular scene that I once envisioned in my mind: I was sitting in a room. There was no door, but there was a large window before me, and life was proceeding outside this window. I could see it, but I could not escape from the room to experience it. I was trapped. Life was directly outside the window, so close that I could nearly touch it ... yet still, it evaded me.

It was a slow process, but after a period of thinking, talking with my family and friends, and praying, I came to some meaningful realizations about my situation. I knew others in the world were suffering far greater trials than I was. Though my physical condition was weakening, I still had my mind; I had the ability to think and experience, and that counts for a lot. There was no reason I couldn't go to college. I told myself that the reward of learning and meeting great people would trump my greatest doubts. I would never have a chance like this again, and I needed to take advantage of the opportunity. When I was accepted into Princeton, I knew I was in for one of the great experiences of my life, though it would be a great challenge as well.

As is the case for many freshmen, college was no easy adjustment for me. At Princeton, everyone I met seemed so intelligent and articulate, and I wasn't quite sure if I would fit in. Balancing classes and activities wasn't easy, and I found myself continually using my disability as an obstacle. To make matters worse, I didn't know many other students, and I had difficulty opening up to people. My days were filled with class and homework, and that was about it. As time went by, I realized that, by settling for this routine, my life really wasn't going anywhere. I had to make a change somehow. Though it's never easy to transform one's personality, I began making more of an effort to reach out to others and to become more involved in school activities. These are things I still struggle with even today, but I realize that it's going to be a slow process with a number of missteps. But, heck, it can't be any tougher than a MAT 215: Analysis in a Single Variable problem set.

Looking back, I have come a long way since I arrived at Princeton in September. I've met some great people. And I've learned a lot, not just from my classes, but about myself, about people, about life. I still have doubts - I still wonder what my future holds - but who doesn't? I know that there are circumstances I am unable to control. I know that there are still many roadblocks left to face. Life certainly isn't easy, but even so, I don't know if I would trade my experiences for a thing. And I still dare to dream.