THE CONTRAST

I was given the gift of not being born into a family with much financial prosperity. There is a sense of gratitude and appreciation acquired in growing up knowing the value of a dollar, in being raised in a nine-hundred-square-foot home, and, most importantly, in indulging in comforting meals made with what's left in the pantry. Despite my family's prior financial stance, my mother and father made every effort possible to provide for my sister and me, ensuring that we would be given a life with many more opportunities to strive and succeed than they were given at our age. One of the many ways in which my parents made these efforts was in providing my sister and me with a private-school education.

From preschool through the eighth grade, I attended a school in an impecunious suburb on the Southern California grid. Though the establishment was very limited on funds and teaching and recreational equipment, it served as a very valuable lesson-provider in my life. Unfortunately, I cannot recall any significant information I had retained in the classrooms at my elementary school that had derived from textbooks or focused lectures, apart from the essential alphabet lessons and algebraic equations. However, the lessons I learned and have taken from my many years at this school were of those experienced outside the classroom.

We all face widespread discrimination and directed prejudice at various points in our lives, and I was fortunate enough to experience such encounters at an early age. Quite contrary to what we normally see in our world today, I was often discriminated against for my fairness in color because I was seen as a minority in an environment that was primarily attended by darker skinned Hispanics. Along with the racial and the superficial prejudices, many of my peers — myself included — were often discriminated against for the amount of money our parents made - something that should not hold much importance in the personal life of a child and his societal relationships.

One would not think that there would be any sort of financial discrimination in an impoverished educational setting amongst lower income students, but the crass truth stood that if you had but a dollar less than the student beside you, you were immediately viewed as a lesser. I took the discomfort and uneasiness of this particular section of my childhood to motivate me in believing in something greater; believing in something, someplace, where I could grow as an individual without the restraints of such a hindering, and sometimes toxic environment.

As I neared the seventh grade, it was time to start considering where I was to attend high school. I had relative attending a rather prestigious school in an outlying, affluent community not more than a half hour's drive from where I had lived at the time. I immediately took interest in the school. I saw an opportunity to experience what I had been yearning for, and what I had known I was not only capable of accomplishing but also deserving. It would be an environment where I would be provided with an opportunity to excel academically without the restraints and lack of resources of my elementary school. I inquired as much about the school as I could and often visited, which enabled me to visualize attending the establishment in my near future. My goal was viewed as far-fetched and out of reach by many who were anything but encouraging. I, however, persevered in catapulting myself toward the academic environment I knew I was deserving and worthy of experiencing.

Through years of academic diligence, I found myself sitting in the front of the classroom at the high school where I had aspired to be — my very real, very tangible manifestation of what was once seen as a far-fetched dream. The shift of environment did not stop in the shiny new campus and the state-of-the-art technology found in the classrooms but continued in the energy I recognized in the students and faculty themselves. I immediately found myself in a place of encouragement and of helping others succeed. I do not remember experiencing any sort of competition or "survival of the fittest" notions in my new location but a sheltered and loving place where I felt I could be myself and be loved for it, and where succeeding in whatever I put my mind to was always encouraged.

My alma mater was a college-preparatory school, and it was not considered unusual for a fourteen-year-old freshman to have where he or she would attend university accurately figured out. I remember walking into my academic counselor's office one morning to discuss my class schedule when a poster advertising a university in London caught my attention. I had family who lived abroad and the idea of being an addition to the list of relatives who had either made their excursions across the pond or had originated there had always been very appealing to me. From that moment on, I held this particular university as my utmost priority and next goal to bring forth into manifestation. I often held the image of living in London in my mind and kept replaying the mental motion of walking through the city streets as award-winning films and novels made them out to be. I felt excited yet calm every time I gave this goal attention; I knew it would happen, and I knew I would be as happy when it happened as I was when I was mentally and emotionally preparing for it.

When it came time to formally discuss with academic counselors and teachers about university in my later years, I was often called a "dreamer" and specifically remember being laughed at as if my goal was again seen as unreachable or senseless. I remained focused on the end result, again believing in something greater, and soon thereafter found myself seated onboard a British Airways Boeing 777 en route to London. I had a scholarship to the very university in London that I had envisioned attending years before.

Upon arriving in the United Kingdom, I was overwhelmed with heightened joy and gratitude. London was pleasingly everything I had imagined it to be and so much more. Coming from a very relaxed Southern California environment and inherited lifestyle, the grandiosity and business of the city were satisfyingly refreshing. There was always something to do, the sense of fashion was outstanding, and the magnitude of British accents was very entertaining. The overall lifestyle of Londoners is one I would recommend to be experienced by everyone.

After a week of sightseeing and adventuring around the city, it was finally time to transition from my hotel room to my dorm at university. I was immediately overjoyed with the historic campus and the diversity of the students. Attending a university in arguably the world's most culturally diverse city meant making friendships with people from near and wide. Finally being able to experience this reality in the flesh, after so many years of dreaming and anticipating, sometimes brought tears to my eyes in bliss of seeing it finally manifested. University life in London was very different from what I had expected it to be, based on what it was made out to be in the States. There were very many circumstances that called for a sudden sense of independence and self-care that I had not yet been introduced to in my sheltered lifestyle back home. How and with whom I decided to spend the twenty-four hours of my day was entirely up to me, and the consequences of my sometimes spontaneous decisions were also dealt with completely on my own.

In the midst of all the excitement of my new move came an unannounced and life-changing encounter. I was in the university's cafeteria serving myself lunch when I was greeted with by an overly forward man whom I had not seen before. He was older in age but seemed to have a very energetic demeanor. "Hello, gorgeous," he said. Astounded, I nervously greeted him with a simple hello and carried on my way.

I did not recall seeing him on campus until days later when I overheard him greeting yet another student and addressing her too by "gorgeous." I had immediately dismissed all discomforting feelings towards the mysterious man and understood him to be a charming person who perhaps attempted to be familiar with the students in his own way. I was also new to the country and unfamiliar with British mannerisms, leading me to decide to not think too heavily on our encounter.

Sometime after, I was again serving myself in the cafeteria when this man — whom I later found to be an administrator at my university — approached me and stated that he would be joining my friends and me for dinner that evening. I welcomed the administrator to join us, and introduced him to my friends who were already seated at the table.

During dinner, conversation began on a pleasant note and everything seemed exceptionally ordinary, though as the night progressed, the administrator began to give the impression that he had some sort of psychic abilities. He continued to address each individual around the table and shared progressively personal information about him or her aloud. It was my turn. He began to state what I considered the painfully obvious facts that anyone I walked past along High Street could gather. However, he later gave false accusations of me, including those related to my sexuality and how I expressed it. I found his words painful and unbearable, leaving me with nothing other than the need to excuse myself from the table for the evening. Thoughts swarmed my head, attempting to comprehend what I had just experienced and why it had been necessary.

On my way back up to my room that evening, I was approached by two university resident assistants who had overheard the administrator's conversation at my table. The RAs insisted that I kept my distance from the man as they personally did not trust him. They continued in sharing that he routinely pulled this "psychic" stunt to all vulnerable incoming freshmen each year.

Every time I encountered the administrator thereafter, he approached and addressed me with more suggestive comments and accusations. Not only were his words discomforting and hurtful to hear, but they also caused much embarrassment as they were made in front of other students on campus. However, I was so caught up with trying to settle into my new home that I did my best in dismissing his efforts to bother me and never felt as though I should have reported his inappropriate behavior.

Months went by and it was now October. I was serving myself dinner in the cafeteria when I had felt someone grab my shoulders from behind me, and shove his knee up my rear. Turning around and seeing the same face I had expected it to be left me feeling incredibly violated, disgusted, and seemingly submissive to the degree in which he was now abusing his power towards me. I firmly announced that his actions were far from acceptable and watched him walk away laughing. I returned to my friends, sharing what had just happened. Everyone quickly began to share the same feelings of disgust that were running through me. As we were discussing the severity of the issue, the administrator approached our table and warned me "Just be thankful that that was my knee." I excused myself from the table, climbed up the staircase to the third floor, entered my room and made the long-distance phone call to my parents in California to inform them of my situation and to ask them for their advice. I had spoke with my Father and remember hearing the hurt in his voice when I gave him the news. I was advised to call the London police to report the administrator's unacceptable behavior. Nearly an hour later, two police officers arrived on campus and took my statement and that of a witness. The administrator was arrested on campus the next morning.

The events following the assault can be understood as anything but comforting. I was 5,000 miles away from home and taking matters day by day on my own. My stress load left such a negative impact on me that I was diagnosed depressed and prescribed medication to alleviate my condition and accompanying anxiety. I had such a distaste for life that I began to partake in harmful and disrespectful behavior — I had lost my flame that once burned so bright.

London's vibrant city life had been washed and greyed; nothing seemed meaningful and nothing brought much happiness into my experience. On two occasions, I found my body sprawled across my bedroom floor coming back into consciousness after overdosing on my medication. I remember clearly being hooked up to a heart monitor at a nearby hospital and hearing the alarm ignite because my heart rate was severely low. I think the only thing that brought my heart rate back up was the fear of death when it was staring me right in the face. Why any of us turn to self harm during circumstances of distress can only justly be understood by the individual and his or her own take on the events leading to such behavior. I saw myself as a failure, and could not imagine what my circumstances would have been like if I would have listened to the discouragers and had not gone to London to begin with. I took complete blame for my assault and felt as though I had wasted countless days on striving to get to a place where I would only then suffer. I could no longer cope with the lost time and finances, and I wanted to escape — even if only for a little while.

Naturally, attending classes was not on the path towards my healing. Thankfully, my university understood the matter and suggested that I withdraw from my Fall semester courses, ensuring that I would still be able to reside on campus without having to return back home to the United States as I had already paid for my housing and tuition in full prior to the beginning of the school year. Though it was extremely helpful that my university had allowed me to stay, I was then faced with the predicament of being on my own all throughout the day with nothing to occupy myself with. Not having a sense of direction during the day was extremely detrimental as it only made matters worse in that it allowed the depression to occupy my mind, preventing and prohibiting me from recovery.

I remember the days being exceptionally dark. No matter where I was or what I was doing, the painful memories of humiliation and ridicule accompanied with incisive feelings of neglect from other students soiled any beaconing rays of hope for change and a new beginning. Because I had felt the only way in which my life could unfold was backwards, I decided to return back to California for a short while as I waited for the storm that was my first semester to pass.

Upon my arrival back into the United States, I at least felt a sense of familiarity and safeness. I had returned home in early November with anticipation of staying through until at least the Thanksgiving Holiday. Being in proximity of my beloved friends and family provided such needed emotional lifts and the ability to finally smile again. However, because I had so suddenly hopped on a plane halfway across the world, I had not taken precautionary measures in ensuring I had everything I needed before I embarked. It was only a matter of days after my arrival when I had completely run out of my antidepressant and tranquilizing medications prescribed to me in the United Kingdom. Though I was on such a heightened emotional vibration in being with my family, my body quickly presented signs of withdrawal from the medication. Quitting anything cold turkey can introduce severe consequences on the body I soon found.

I immediately fell ill and was no longer in a position to cherish my time with my family and friends as I had hoped. Because I had been prescribed my medication in a different country, I had to continue my dosage in that same country and could not seek similar prescriptions from my physician in the United States. Being able to see my beloved family and friends again gave me the strength I needed to return to London and terminate any lasting complications that prohibited me from completely enjoying something I had worked so hard for. My mother's last words to me at the departure gate, "Kick ass, son."

Upon my arrival back into the United Kingdom, I had reached the decision of withdrawing from the university altogether, but refrained from doing so until I was reimbursed my paid tuition in light of events that took place. The Holiday season was fast approaching and the university was not showing any sign of giving me an answer in what was then the near future. Since I had only come back from California, I was not in the financial position to return again. I instead spent Christmas with my grandmother in the Swiss Alps. My grandmother was currently moving from one apartment to another, giving me the opportunity to provide my help and to take my mind off of my life in London for a while. Being situated in such a prestigious part of the world provided much deserved tranquility. The Christmas of 2013 was one of heavy lifting and of countless trips to the local recycling and waste center, but the Christmas of 2013 was a happy one.