As I stepped past the Egyptian guard at the entrance I was not greeted by the golden chambers I had expected, but a dank, dark tunnel that smelled of rot and decay. Before me climbed the way to Pharaoh Khufu’s ancient burial place, yet this did not seem a tomb fit for a king. My sister nudged me forward from behind, and I began to ascend, hunching for fear of hitting my head. We climbed, and we climbed. I became hot and the stifling air did not provide good breathing conditions, but onward we pursued, through the twists and turns first crawled by my ancestors. Suddenly, I saw the person in front of me stand upright and after a few steps forward, I did too. I stopped. My breath stopped. The chamber was not one of gold. This ancient wonder contained but a single stone enclosure without embellishment or adornment. It smelled just as the tunnel and I was much too cramped, but I was there.

“دائما الفخر في النسب الخاص” Always have pride in your ancestry, my grandfather told me in a thick Arabic accent when he used to hold me in his lap. I whispered these words as I stood within the greatest wonder of the ancient world and I couldn’t help but smile when I remembered them. My ancestors never had the easiest life. In Egypt, education was a limited privilege, one to be struggled for and cherished. None of them knew true freedom until they were here. Here education was free, here opportunity was abundant, here democracy was possible, and here life could be enjoyed.

So here I stand. That dream is the tempo by which I beat my drum. I am a product of their desire, their drive, for the unfathomable. The words of my grandfather will always ring true in my heart. Some days though, I don’t feel that I’ve been true to my ancestors.  Their dream demands my success but I’m a human being, inevitably some days I’ll fall short. Most of my friends from high school were on the volleyball team and every year they convinced me to try out for the team. Every spring I’d practice for weeks upon weeks, passing, setting, and serving every day after school and every year I thought, “This is the year. This year I look good.” I always fell short.  My name was never posted on the list.

The rejection was never easy. It got harder the more I tried and for a little while I developed some bitterness towards my volleyball friends. They were successful. They were members of the team, they wore the jerseys, they felt the adrenaline rush from the thrill of the game. All I could do was watch, and wish it was me out there.  It wasn’t until my senior year that I looked back and realized in my own way, I had been successful too. Volleyball wasn’t for me but I found so many things that were over the years. I became a dancer, received great grades, kept the most amazing friends, and enjoyed my life along the way. Life was never defined by my failure to make the volleyball team; instead it was defined by what I had done to succeed in my own way. I might not always succeed in what I put my mind too, but what determines if I’m successful is what I do with what I’m given, if I find happiness in what I have.

That thought is what came to mind as I stood in the threshold of the Pharaoh’s tomb. I’m sure that my ancestors, from the ancient Egyptians to my own grandparents, did not succeed in everything they did. But in the end the pharaohs built the pyramids and my grandparents made a better life for their children and grandchildren in America. Their success is my blessing. Because of what they did I can attend college, live freely, and enjoy a life without fear and oppression. Despite my short comings I’ve followed their example. Through hard work and perseverance not only have I received the opportunity to further my education but I’ve also found happiness. I’ve tried my hardest to become successful, to not let them down. I’ll always have pride in my ancestry and I only hope my ancestors are proud of me.