I wrote this for school (we were required to write an autobiography for the teacher).  Hmm..

Writing this proved to be harder than I imagined it to be.  Never knowing whether certain aspects of my life are worthy enough to be written about; to be remembered.  Yet, when you don’t know something, what better place to start than at the beginning?
I was born on December 1, 1989 to my parents S and L ***.  After being born and comprehending life as what it is, the question now becomes, who am I?  In the deepest parts of myself, what is it that screams to the world that I am unique? That I am worthy of everything I desire to be?
Ever since I was a little girl people have compared me to my father, whether it be in looks or personality.  And even now, 15 years after his first bedtime stories were told, we’re still nearly completely alike; all the way down from our philosophy ideals to our favourite history time periods and political affiliations.
My mom and I on the other hand are selectively alike; surprises make us similar.  Instead of the broad overbearing similarities to my father, we share the small nearly unknown ones.  Our quiet personalities and, perhaps, even the way we express ourselves.
I bring up my parents only to say I am who I am, whatever that happens to be, because of them.  Because of the way they raised, taught, and listened.
I’ve always been a solemn individual, and Kierkegaard probably said it best when he wrote, “I was born an old man.”  I believe part of my quiet way stems from one of my first memories; the funeral of my older sister, Carragh, who died from Leukemia.  It’s only a small glimpse from my four-year-old mind, but it has definitely shaped me in ways I could never describe.
Due to Carragh’s death, and probably other currently unknown reasons, I was homeschooled from half of kindergarten up until my graduation in 2007.  Most people ask whether or not I feel socially inept because of it.  Whether I can function in society, but to be honest, I don’t want to be a social butterfly.  I’ve never been a social butterfly.  My other sister, Caitlin, is far more social than I, and that proves at least in my experience, that homeschooling had nothing to do with my willingness to be around people.  It had nothing to do with my love for the quiet and structured. I learned all that captivated me, and to this day I continue to do so.
I’m not an overt religious person in the structured sense, although both of my grandfathers as well as my father were pastors.  I am however, spiritual and a believer in the Kierkegaardian way, you might say.  The belief in a personal, private God, that no man can adequately judge.
Recently philosophy has enthralled me almost to the point of seriously considering a career in that field.  Although, I will admit, I have no idea what that would entail.  I believe myself to be an Existentialist, meaning, one who sees the world as an empty cosmic space, and we are the ones who must fill it.  We are the one’s who create our happiness from unknown depths.  This philosophy however is hampered in one small way: what makes me happy, the dreams I’ve dreamt, and the hopes I’ve hoped for, are hidden away somewhere, unknown to even me. 
    My struggles, if there happens to be a way of distinguishing them is in the way I present myself to other people, and the educations (or lack thereof) that I’ve experienced.
    One of the turning points in my life was when I realized what I wanted to know, to understand, and even when I didn’t have a teacher, even when there was no one to ask, there was always a book or an article to read.  There was always something to teach me what no one else could teach.  In a way, I will admit this isn’t exactly a very exciting turning point, but it meant no matter what, I could always know more than I already knew.  Granted, the interaction and different perspectives would be lost, but the well of knowledge would always be there, never emptying.
    Self-discovery is something I’m continually striving for.  Whether it be a personality trait, or a new interest, it really doesn’t matter.  Part of this discovery spans over a two year process of researching Asperger’s Syndrome.  Having never been officially diagnosed, I can’t make any sure conclusions in regards to this, but that isn’t the point.  The point is in the fact that I related to something, I discovered something new about myself.  I was finding myself in the midst of self-discovery without ever truly realizing it.  I still can’t say whether there is anything fundamentally different about me, but even if there is, so be it.  I would rather be unsure but searching, than sure and content. 
    My piano is another massive part of me.  Performing Rachmaninoff’s Prelude in C# Minor for an audience was an amazing experience. I will say, however, that I don’t play for the sake of other people.  Instead, I play for myself, for my expression, my sense of being, my peace; I play because I love the instrument with as much love as you can have for an object.
    Despite being told I play well, that I write eloquently, I still can’t help but question the motives behind such statements.  I can’t help but question myself.  We’re all biased in one way or another, especially to ourselves, and knowing the absolute truth is something I value very, very highly.  My hope, however, for the next few years is to find my way along a new road of existence and to skip a step or two across.
    The Objectivist in me would feel guilty for not knowing my own path, my force, my being.  But, perhaps not knowing, is a path in and of itself.
       So again, I ponder the question: am I worthy of everything I desire to be, whether or not I even know what that entails?  I certainly hope so, but only time will tell, and until then, I’ll continue my quest for the “virtue of selfishness” as Ayn Rand so delicately put it.