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Liberation
Natasha Mercado
I am currently in the medical assisting program. My essay
documents the first time I felt a sense of liberation after
cutting off all of my hair in grade school.
My eyes were fixated to the ground, studying the
immaculately swept cement stairs leading to grandmother’s
house. My father held on tightly to my hand as he struggled to
balance my sister’s and my overnight bags. My sister Chanel
stood in front of us, her arms rebelliously crossed on her chest
and her eyes seemingly stuck in the rolling position. As all
three of us approached the big, white, seemingly menacing
house that retained my grandmother, I felt my pulse quicken
and my heart race. As my father rang the doorbell I didn’t take
my eyes of the floor. I heard the latch unhook and the door
creak open slowly. “Well there they are!” my grandmother
exclaimed. I raised my head to meet her gaze. I immediately
noticed the way her mouth turned upward and her lips
twitched when she saw my appearance.
I was only seven at the time, but even at that age I knew
how my mother’s side of the family had revulsion for my father.