“Teen girls at upstate camp nearly burn to death after smoke detector failure”
NY Post (8/18/2013)
One hot summer night, three years ago, I woke up to screams, “Fire! Get outside!” The moment I opened my eyes, I saw flames engulfing the rafters. In horror, I watched as a full-fledged fire spread before my eyes. Petrified, I jumped out of bed and ran for my life. Within four minutes, the fire expanded throughout the entire building. My friends and I huddled around each other and watched our home away from home collapse onto itself and literally burn to the ground.
Underneath the burnt orange sky, the bright fire truck lights reflected upon our shocked and horrified faces. The scorched embers of the bunks resembled black garbage heaps, that gave off a stench of tragedy. The smell followed me around for months, as did several looming questions about what transpired that evening.
No lives were lost that night, and no one was hurt either, but the destructive fire catalyzed a remarkable change inside me. My parents always told me “Life is precious, be grateful for what you have.” I never paid attention to these clichés until I watched my bunk burn.
I began to think about my life on a deeper level, and I became preoccupied with more existential concerns. Nightmares about the fire led me to ask myself what was my purpose for being here at this point in time?
One day, months after the fire, I told my mother about these all-consuming thoughts. She explained to me that the fire was not the first time I beat the odds at life. My mother endured four years of painful fertility treatments and more than a handful of devastating miscarriages. Doctors would tell her to “Just accept fate,” as they’d hand her informational pamphlets about adoption. After seven grueling rounds of in-vitro fertilization, she finally conceived me. When my mom told me this story, my significance in the family became clear. I was a blessing to my parents, something I resolved not to take for granted.
On the micro level, surviving the fire taught me to live in the present. I give back to my community to build relationships with those in need. I place a high value on my relationships with people.
The night of the fire, everything I had brought to camp burned, but I never lost a thing of value. Although I initially struggled with post-traumatic emotions and internal questions, I ultimately relied on my family to prevail through the tragedy. I have been fortunate to have such a strong support system. I realized how much interpersonal relationships matter. In fact, these relationships form the basis of the most important part of my life. Without a doubt, helping those in need will always be a part of who I am.
While I lost my possessions during the fire, in retrospect it’s clear that I gained one of the most precious gifts of all: perspective.
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