"You can do anything you put your mind to."

This was the highlight of my Alexandrian summer, approximately two years ago. From what I remembered, it was pretty humid, but with the air conditioning and music stations in the ghost of my sister's black Ford Liberty, driving along the outlines of Virginia was a cooling experience. I remember this time being a period when I was exceptionally aware of myself, trying to gain fruit from watching TED talks, reading, exercising, and practicing my photography skills.

I was a foreigner, but I was a happy one; being in a state for the very first time gives you a chill of adventure as you wonder what in particular will bring out some sort of revolution or change within you for the future. That being said, in addition to eating out at restaurants and playing games, I encouraged my mother for us to spend one day at Colonial Williamsburg. Out of a hunch for interest, or for education, I can't remember. But I do recall this strange ambiguity of identity that seemed to grab my insides and threatened to split me in half.

For those who don't know (and also aren't in the mood for a Google search; I completely understand), Colonial Williamsburg replicates (to what degree you imagine) life in 18th century America. Despite the beauty of the area, its unflinching narrative and "citizens" were probably what captivated me the most. Upon reaching the "city" itself, my family did what most of the other tourists did: explore, take pictures, even engage with the "locals." It wasn't until I followed my mom into a garden where we ended up having a brief conversation with the owner, who was watering the plants with such a care it took me back to my mother's own small patch back in Philadelphia. She noticed me rather gradually.

Her: "What would like to be?"

Me: "I'm not really sure."

Her: "Well then, take your time. You can do anything you put your mind to."

It was an odd moment I felt stirring within me, having a dialogue with someone who was completely in her 18th century character, dress, bonnet, and all, who has probably had similar situations multiple times before. But somehow I couldn't shake off the concern and urgency that came along with that line, almost as if it were a pair of shades I couldn't take off, something needed to protect myself from the harsh view of apathy and indifference. By the end of the day and the trip back home, I felt, in a way, renewed and baptized all over again.

Please read part 2 of my piece here.