The Ring

As I write this essay, shadows of ideas in my mind struggle to materialize into something tangible; I slowly twist the ring on my finger. I examine the ring; rings are a peculiar thing: too tight and they’re dangerous, too loose and they’re useless; in one case or the other, they are no longer the symbols of unity they once were. Luckily, the band that slowly turns on my finger is neither too tight nor too loose, the symbol thus intact.

This ring holds a significance both within me and without, multi-faceted like the stone it holds. A class ring, it forever connects the Class of 2021, a token of a common and shared struggle which we face even today, as we try to pull through our final year before parting ways and starting the journey to find our places in life. However, for me, the ring on my finger isn’t only a symbol of my high school experience and of unity, but also one of acceptance, one of unconditional love.

The night before I’d even laid eyes on my ring was the night that I made a life-altering decision. It was the night that I finally came out to my family. It was a truth that had been inside me for what seemed like an eternity; like a ring that was too tight, the secret was suffocating, cutting off my circulation, and with every passing day that my family wasn’t aware, the ring only grew tighter. While my friends had known for quite some time, it was my family’s ignorance of the truth that truly affected me, as they’re the ones I should rely on in my hardest and darkest times. And so, on that night, the truth poured out of me, sitting on my mother’s bed, next to the woman whom I had always loved, whom I had always looked up to, the woman I knew would accept me for everything I am. And she didn’t let me down.

The floodgates flew open. My mother  could see how the words had taken a toll on me — an emotionally exhausting experience — so she offered to tell the rest of my family, those closest to me. Like my mother, they didn’t fail me. Even my grandparents, growing up in conservative traditions, were accepting of who I am.

Thus, when they all showed up for my ring ceremony, it meant the universe to me. And when, as tradition dictates, I had to find 21 people to spin my ring and those 8 volunteered readily, my heart filled with warmth. And when I finally told my father, and he proudly spun my ring for the 21st time before pulling me in for an embrace, I knew I was completely and wholly accepted.

And the ring loosened; once more my circulation flowed freely, and I could finally breathe, finally live. It was as if my entire world had changed, as if I had been looking at it through a small circle, confined to a tunnel vision, and in a single moment, the circle had expanded. I could accept my place in the world. Not only was I able to accept and love myself, I was able to accept that others could too. I opened myself to others; the small circle of close friends I surrounded myself with expanded to include people I wasn’t previously comfortable being myself around, and my love for them has grown exponentially.

One can hardly boil down their life to one word. We are more than one word, more than a student or a family member, more than a friend or an enemy. And yet, within my ring are all of the aspects of myself: the love I hold for my family, as well as my friends, the strength of my will, the vulnerability of my heart, all linked together in this ring. A symbol of unity.