Warring For Peace Essay, Research Paper

I am violently warring for peace. I know this is a paradox, and I’mrather proud because it is true. Passivity has been a lifelong threat,laziness a constant lure in my search for identity. This world begs me to succumb toexisting in the image of someone else, it asks only that I slip silently andblindly into the niche it provides instead of carving my own. I required along time to work up courage to fight for the serenity I had glimpsed in hotsummer woods and in lovingly handled books read late until the earlymorning. Doubt had established itself in my mind at some early age, whenor why I do not know, and I could trust any person or group more thanmyself. Doubt begat fear, and fear gave birth to obscuring myself from theeyes of the world while I was a child.

Now, I am dedicated to the fight, after over five years of fear andimmobility. I rejected the easiest way out of life, and demanded truth. Istrengthened my body as I strengthened my mind against the attacks Ifaced. When I was fifteen I started Tae Kwon Do, the martial arts class thatwas offered through my school. I learned more about blocking, kicking,and punching in the first two weeks of that class than I had known myentire life. My once powerless body, petite and thin, could knock the windout of someone with a well placed punch, and I could kick people tallerthan me in the head. So what I could do, I did, and now my friendsinstinctively block when they see me grin mischievously in their direction. Iam content to know I have taught them something useful.

Last spring for the third time in a row, I shakily accepted myteacher’s hand as he congratulated me on second place in women’s divisionsparring. It was a bittersweet triumph, three times now I have lost to thesame girl. She has become an icon for everything I wish to triumph over inthis world. She is beautiful, hair like black silk, impeccable taste inclothing,makeup like a Renaissance painting, and average when it comes toeverything else. I watch her silently stride into art class on three inchheels, skirt above her knee, no runs in her stockings, and manicured nailssmoothing invisible wrinkles from he shirt. I look down at myself, one ofmy shirt buttons missing, securely replaced with a safety pin, mycomfortable green pants provide freedom of movement if little style, andmy sturdy black shoes have been with me for three years. I hear my voice laughing almost too loudly, physics notes are sticking out of my sketchbook, and I am well aware of that I am not average.

I fight this opponent I have created and what she represents not because she chooses to live her life by the beauty standard, and not because I feelinferior. We are at war because no one outside of Tae Kwon Do class ever seeswhat she is capable of. They don?t know that those perfectly moisturized handscan break through boards or leave your head spinning. No one knows that thosefeet captured in three inch heeled prisons can leave you hurting for days,bruised where you blocked, bruised and bleeding where you failed to. I fighther because she is a symbol of how I tried to hide myself and my potential.I?m tired of being afraid of how the world will respond to me, and I waragainst the part of myself that would rather just please fashion magazines andpopular concepts. Peace comes from accepting my identity, not from hiding it.I will laugh loudly at outside ideas of who I am supposed to be, kick down theopposition to my goals, and I will continue to fight until I have my peace.