Being Small

February 4th, 2015: one of the happiest days of my life.

I’ve always been small. School pictures meant standing in the first row, never on a riser. Amusement parks meant waiting for my friends to finish their rollercoasters while I sat in a bumper car. And people putting their elbows on my head? Endless. That day in February, at the doctor’s, I finally reached the milestone I had dreamed of years before: reaching the coveted five foot mark. Once I reached that dash on the ruler, I suddenly became a real human, not just a miniature version.

My birthday is just two months after the cut-off date for my school. After passing the test to place out of kindergarten, not only was I the shortest person in first grade, but the youngest too, further perpetuating my tiny-person complex, which stayed with me for most of my life.

In the classroom, teachers and students only saw my timidness, which they mistook for complete passivity. In gym class, I was the runt, always picked last to be on the team. Succumbing to these pressures, I caved in. I stopped participating in class and limited myself to a small group of friends. Outside of this bubble, I felt like the world was only for the tall, poised people.

But my outlook changed when I met Señora Perez, my seventh grade Spanish teacher. She was sassy, short, and intimidating, and I loved her. She made me feel assured about allowing my own feisty nature to take over, giving me a sense of capability, regardless of my miniscule stature. Add that to finally reaching my milestone height, and I felt powerful for the first time in my life. Gone was the quiet, good girl. No one could take advantage of me anymore as I began to demand my rightful place in the classroom, participating with confidence.

High school, though, is when my age disparity became especially apparent, challenging my newfound assertiveness. During my sophomore year, my friends raved about their internships, working at hospitals, and their driver’s licenses, while I, still 15 years old, merely watched from the sidelines. This was my second time in the cycle of smallness, though. But this time I was prepared. I knew that I had to create my own opportunities.

I began volunteering at my temple, where I taught math to third graders. This outlet gave me a chance to become more outspoken, as I had to emulate courage to gain the students’ trust. The most impactful experience I had, though, was at Pinewood Creek, the senior living center in my community. Each resident had a different story. One came from Nazi-occupied Poland, another from violence in Hong Kong, and one, suffering from Alzheimer’s, found her partner within the walls of Pinewood Creek. They had overcome more in their lives than I could ever imagine. My issues with my size were insignificant. I was using it as a crutch to shelter me from pursuing the ventures that scared me.

In school, I applied the lessons I learned at Pinewood Creek, becoming an advocate for serving my local and global communities. As difficult as it was to stand in front of an audience, I ran for and won leadership positions as the president of Helping Hands and vice-president of O’Ambassadors. I also began more actively chasing my dreams of being a doctor by becoming vice-president of FMLA. Furthermore, I was emboldened to take on running the vocal segment of my school’s South Asian performing group. Each venture gave me a network of people that support me and allowed me to contribute to my community in multiple meaningful ways. Finally, I was focused on what I was doing for people, rather than what I looked like while doing it.

Yes, I really am 16 years old. No, the weather is not different down here. And yes, I am perfectly fine being this small.