Nothing to say, yet
Transcription
The speaker, Symphony Simmons, shares a personal story about her complicated history with guacamole. She describes her childhood experiences of feeling different from her classmates due to her school lunch and her discovery of guacamole. She talks about her aversion to avocados and her obsession with controlling her food intake. However, she eventually overcomes these issues and realizes that love and enrichment are not dependent on her size. She now enjoys guacamole in various aspects of her life and sees it as a metaphor for love and independence. She concludes by expressing her hope that others have enjoyed her self-portrait. Tell me how you feel about me, do you like a life like me? Tell me what you really feel, do you like me? Hi everyone, my name is Symphony Simmons and I'm a junior communication major here at the University of Oklahoma. Today I have prepared something very special and personal to me. It is a fun play on what I would consider to be my life story. I feel like it shows a lot about me and who I am as a person. I had a really good time writing this. I felt very creative through this process. The narrative is about an object and though it may seem very unimportant and kind of silly and mundane, I feel like this is an excellent way to shed light on something that you really care about. Without further ado, I give you my complicated history with guacamole, a self-portrait. The Oxford Dictionary defines guacamole as a noun, a dish made of mashed avocado with chopped onion, tomatoes, chili peppers, and seasoning. Guacamole is a traditional Mexican dip that can be eaten at a restaurant, shared with friends, or prepared and enjoyed independently at home. Like most normal people with good taste, I enjoy avocados, and especially guacamole, so this hasn't always been the case. Let me set the scene. I fervently marched into my second grade classroom on the first day of school, propelled by my will to succeed on top of the world. It was my second year at this school, and I was determined to make new friends. The school was large and daunting in its scale compared to my own 4'5 height. School was my escape. At home, I was faced with a single mother who was clouded by her own darkness, with no other outlet to take her frustration on. But at Marshall Elementary School, I was a new person, shiny and brand new. I set out on my friendship quest in many areas that first day, but I knew the real moneymaker would be the cafeteria during lunch. The cafeteria teemed with life like a shallow pond. I felt hopeful I would find my way. The free and reduced lunch program line seemed to age me into my 70s, and by the time I had finally snaked my way through the busy line, there seemed to be no place to sit. I managed to find a spot with a group of girls from my class. Although this was almost 15 years ago, I still remember the looks exchanged and the banter to be had about my school lunch. They whispered in a curious way, like I was going to suddenly sprout another head like an evil folktale. All the girls had brightly colored lunchboxes packed to perfection by their caring family members, and the substance on my plate matched the color of the gray cafeteria floors. Since I had known no other lunches, I loved my plate of gruel. It comforted me like my favorite song. My school lunch covered the basics, and for that I was grateful. However, I did wish for some sugar here and there. Thanks, Michelle Obama. The contrast that became the most apparent to me between my plate and these pristinely packaged home lunches was the lack of produce. These girls had bananas, apples, oranges, and even the holy grail, cotton candy grapes. I didn't know food could be so vibrantly colored. Produce was expensive, so the chances of finding something that had come fresh from the ground in my house were slim and none, and slim had already left the building. One day, a friend of mine sauntered to our communal lunch table and whipped out her princess lunchbox. She then revealed something I had never seen before. It was green, and chunky, and frankly, it looked like vomit. I remember sticking a finger at it with a juvenile shriek. What is that? All the girls laughed at me. They couldn't believe that I had never heard of guacamole or even avocados. I wanted to smack them against their heads and say, does it look like the free and reduced lunch program is handing those out? That was the moment I became aware of my class difference from the rest of my peers, and since then, avocados have been a rich people's food. That was my first bone to pick with guacamole. One large, half-avocado contains 322 calories and 28 grams of fat. You could have told me that an avocado contained the potion of perfect health and a million dollars, and 16-year-old me would still rather die than consume that. I spent a decent portion of my high school career convincing myself I just didn't like certain foods. They just weren't for me. This included, but was not limited to, pizza, ice cream, brunch fries, pasta, sugar, and mostly anything that contained carbs. The day I had an avocado on my salad, I entered its name into my MyFitnessPal app cautiously and routinely and discovered the spine-chilling crime I had committed. 322 calories for that? Are you kidding me? My entire cross-country practice was just a shout into the void if I was going to consume 13 whole pizzas, one avocado, after it was over. I had never felt such searing self-reproach. Avocados and guacamole had entered my hit list once again. I knew my aversions and distaste towards certain foods were fueled by more than just personal preference. I had a serious control issue and thought I could only get love and enrichment in my life if I was smaller. This kind of narrow and obsessive thinking hindered my everyday life, but with a lot of help and healing, I triumphed. Many seasons have come and gone from the beginning of this narrative to now. I am an independent and successful 21-year-old student at the University of Oklahoma. Avocados are not just for rich people, and love and enrichment are meant for you at any size. The girls at your lunch table won't always laugh at what you bring and will actually applaud you for who you are. I now see guacamole in several areas of my life. I love to venture out to a bustling Mexican restaurant with my friends on a Sunday, filled to the brim with a mix of severely dehydrated college students and churchgoers. It's a toss-up of which of these identities we will claim that Sunday. I love when we pick apart our weekends and share the good and the bad over some chips and dip. I love when my friend Abby brings me to the store by the scruff of my neck for guacamole ingredients to watch the big games. I love the independence I feel when I'm cooking dinner for myself and decide on just straight-up guacamole, because that's what I want, and I have the authority to do that. Guacamole isn't always guacamole and can be a metaphor for many other things. The love I feel in my life now does not come at a cost or need to be met with an exchange. It is whole and dynamic. I hope you all enjoyed this self-portrait of mine. Thank you.
