Irony, A La The Little Mermaid

My all-time favorite Disney movie is The Little Mermaid. I was seven years old when the movie came out, and at that influential age, Ariel was everything I looked up to.

I can vividly recall my enthusiasm at the idea of putting on my own live action production of the movie - way before Broadway suits came up with the idea. I bought everything from an Ariel nightlight (which glowed eerily) to Little Mermaid sheets to plastic cutlery sets emblazoned with likenesses of the main characters. Something about a story of a brazen young woman who overcomes all obstacles in order to be with her love seemed... well, magical. Her fierce spirit and determination appealed greatly to me. Ariel seemed to be swimming to the beat of her own crustacean band, and even at that tender age, I related to her. She was willing to part with everything she knew (her underwater world) in order to have a future that was well beyond her grasp. She maintained her sense of self, battled obstacles, fought a sea witch, and married her (first?) love, Eric.

Years after watching Ariel become human, I watched the beginning of The Little Mermaid 2.

Now, I'm hoping that I have my facts mixed up, but from what I recall, the plot of the second installment of The Little Mermaid started like this: Ariel and Eric have a daughter (Melody), and said daughter wants to become a mermaid.

That's right folks: Mommy went through all the trouble of disrespecting her father (with the possibility of alienating him indefinitely) AND took the risk of becoming a nasty-looking seawood clump with eyes; Daddy got put under the spell of a sea witch, almost married her, and almost died in the process of figuring it all out. Despite all this, little Melody decides she wants to go back where her mother came from. She decides she wants to live the life her mother didn't fulfill: the life of a mermaid.

Okay, so I'm probably drawing conclusions to things that don't really lend themselves to each other, but this is exactly how my life is right now.

My parents left the Philippines in order to forge a better future in the United States. They left behind family, friends, the entire context in which their lives were understood - and they came here. A few years after they were married, I was born, and five years after that, my brother was born. Things were idyllic for a while.

Or, at least, in the version of this story that I'm imparting now, things were idyllic for a while. (No sense in having only one version of the story anyway.) See, after a while, I grew up, started hanging out with the wrong crowd, and became a "problem child." I stayed out at all hours of the night, had sex, did drugs, yada yada... It's all cliche, right?

The thing is, though, I've never been "stable." I've always yearned for more than what's available. There's a homeless population? An environmental problem? A higher education issue? I became an activist. The family needed someone to take charge? I did it, even though I was too young to really know what I was doing. Were my friends "too ghetto"? I got new friends: ones who couldn't be any more white, or they'd be clear.

I shuffled around people, around lives, around dreams and actions - all because I've never known what it is that I truly want to do with myself. No reality has ever been good enough for me.

But now, the opportunity has arisen to travel to the Philippines, earn a BA in physician's assistance, and simultaneously do activism (teaching English to orphans). I'll be in a tropical climate with my little brother (aka my favorite person in the world). I'll be earning a decent living (in Filipino standards), and getting a degree that has potential for six-digits-of-dollars-earning. I'll be learning more about myself and my family than I've ever known before. And the fact that I'll be in a warm, sunny place makes me think I won't suffer from as many mood swings/melancholic moments as I've been susceptible to in the States.

So in this analogy, I'm Melody. I'm going back to a place my parents left, and ironically, I'll be going there for the same reason they left: I want a better future. I want another option. I want to change my destiny.