I don't really think I can deem my life up to now as something worth calling a "history". Not that my life hasn't been interesting, but it's been so short. It's similar to the many other stories you and I have heard; reporting it might just belittle it into a cliche...
I am the daughter of Indian immigrants, born in England, raised in America. I grew up in suburban Minnesota with my family of two loving parents, a little brother, and (now) a puppy. My brother and I have a nine year age difference, so there was little sibling rivalry. In fact, I would say that my brother's birth made me even more family oriented. I moved through school with a little effort and a handful of friends. I studied hard and never rebelled. I had 'phases' like so many other kids growing up. I wanted to be unique. I wanted to fit in. I dotted my 'i's with hearts. I wrote in cursive. I wrote like Poe. I wrote like Sedaris. Even now I can't define what I was...confused maybe? My parents raised my in a traditional fashion, and I was all for 'freedom' so you can imagine the rift. However, I always acted with my family in mind and what was best for them.
Eventually I grew up, grew out of trying to find an identity and naturally fell into one. I love my family deeply. I try to the fullest of my ability to make those around me happy. I am deeply affected by others opinions of me. I hate unhappiness, and hate being the cause of that unhappiness. In a sense, my own 'history' or identity is formed by those around me. I will probably always be affected by the world around me; maybe that is a weakness, maybe it is a strength. However, I realize I am what I am because of my past and will continue to act on my upbringing.
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