One summer night, I took the metro and bus by myself. Sitting in the bus at 7 pm with strangers all around me, I felt a kind of invincibility. There I was, without my parents or older sister. I was giddy with excitement, thinking about telling my friends how it felt to sit there by myself. It was a taste of freedom, of independence.
These days, I’ve been learning the delicate balance between dependence and independence. When do I ask for help? When do I brave things by myself? How do I find balance between the two? I turned 18 last January, and with it came experiences and lessons that have changed me.
Last June, I had to travel alone to the Philippines to take a college entrance exam. On the nine hour plane ride sitting beside a random man, I took out my heavy review book and studied throughout the flight. I don’t remember if the man told me his name, but I remember his kindness to me.
I finished eating earlier than him and was eager to review again. I pulled out my book from my bag and settled it on the crook of my table, my food tray taking up all the space. Without my asking, he motioned for my tray and put it on his own table, even if it was cramped and crooked. When my phone’s battery was low, he had asked a flight attendant for help so I could charge it. And then again, when we had landed and were about to leave the plane, as I stood up to go, he wished me luck.
Perhaps he won’t even remember me, but in my head, I will always remember him. I look back on that plane ride and I don’t remember his face or what he was wearing. Each scene that plays in my mind mesh together, but his kindness is crystal clear. I see and feel it all the way until now, months later.
Him showing me kindness was him choosing that I would be on the side of dependence.
On the other hand, independence can either be completely exhilarating or incredibly terrifying. There was an element of excitement about being on a trip by myself, but everything was new and unfamiliar as I was alone. I remember how nervous I would feel, that jittery feeling in the pit of my stomach like when my parents dropped me off on the first day of school. When you’re used to having people to depend on, it’s intimidating to suddenly have freedom to make your own choices.
During my last few days on that trip, I was on a car ride with a friend and he suddenly asked me, “So, what have you learned throughout your trip?”
It was an unexpected question, but I had an answer anyway. I told him about what I'm sharing now—the delicate balance between dependence and independence.
I was wholly responsible for myself. I didn’t have my parents or older sister with me, but I wasn’t completely alone either. I could depend on the people around me, like how I was doing at that moment as my friend’s mom drove us home.
On that June trip, I had to learn the balance between dependence and independence. I had to rely on the people around me, but when I couldn’t, I had myself.
Dependence is a form of vulnerability. It is admitting you need help—a baring and undressing of yourself. It’s hard to do, but all the best things are. Having others help you carry the problems you bear is not a burden. You are not weak or a bother for asking for help.
Independence is an integral part of our metamorphosis. It comes with time, change, and growing up. Like the little fledglings atop tree branches, we must let our wings spread, take the precarious jump, and allow ourselves to soar.
Knowing when to be dependent and independent takes time, and even then it is imperfect. One must remember that in each experience we have, we are never alone and we are capable of more than we can imagine.
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