Rollercoasters are surrounded by happy people, laughing with balloons and cotton candy in the hands. Painted with bright colors and exciting names like “Superman” and “Avalanche,” rollercoasters seem fun, exciting, unreal; like a transport to some magical place where people can fly. Yet, rollercoasters are the nearest metaphor for my life that I’ve ever experienced. You leave the gate with a jolt, or slowly and steadily creep toward a faster pace. They spin you so fast your head shakes inside the safety restraints. Sometimes they leave your feet dangling like a freefall as your hurtle towards the ground, squeezing your eyes shut as the earth seems to rise up and crush you. Like drugs, rollercoasters take you on the ride of your life, up, up, up, then down, down, down. They leave you gasping for air, knuckles white, grateful that somehow you’re safe in your car, back at the gate. With a wiggle of fingers and toes, you reaffirm the fact that you are in one piece. But as you begin to walk, you realize your insides are all jumbled trying to float back to where they belong.


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