I still believe in dragons. Throughout a thousand years of human history, the dragon has been an international concept. Every culture has its variation; the Scottish Beithir, the Chinese lóng, the Greeks’ Hydra, or the European’s classically renowned Wyvern. A distant land from Europe, Native Americans have their own variations, such as the Mesoamerican deity Quetzalcoatl or the Cherokee’s Uktena. They vary from serpent-like to feathery beasts, imitating the known world around them to explain the unknown world that engulfs us. Worldwide, dragons have been explanations for the terrible and the great: hurricanes, wealth, war, luck, devastation, wisdom, and chaos. They are guardians or demons, blessings or harbingers of evil; they may be the most represented, misrepresented, contradictory gods, tricksters, and monsters of our imaginations.
Throughout my life, my meaning has been as ambiguous as that of the dragon. To my mother, I was her greatest gift or her worst burden. Classmates called me weird, then, suddenly, they thought I was talented. Depending on my mother’s or father’s house, my families knew different halves of me and never the entirety. My friends would never see the whole of my life, only pieces. With so many influences, repeated holidays, and villages of help to my upbringing, I never had one set opinion or tradition. I could not find a home in one label or definition. I’ve come up with a hundred lives I want to live, in a hundred countries, with a hundred different talents. Like the dragon, I’ve had many forms.
Without religion or tradition, I had fairy tales and a wild imagination. I was raised on books with dragons; thick textbooks with pouches of glitter claiming to be the dust of a dragon’s eggshell, storybooks of giant serpents in the mountains, and movies with great misunderstood beasts. There was nothing else for me to find comfort in beyond the sketches of dragons reclining on the hills. In middle school, I found something better than fairytales. My storybooks eventually evolved into history books, exploring the wonders of the old world. I was attracted by mythology and ancient temples. I sought elements of the old world in every passion that I pursued in life. I practice archery in my backyard to retell the myths of Artemis and Skadi. I collect postcards, books, and antiques of Egyptology and the Classical World. I developed an intense love for photography after attempting to capture the perfect angle of the Temple of Dendur at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, which led me to capture the rest of the impressive world around me.
In modern day, we often overlook our culture. We minimize its influence. We disregard the subject of history in school because, of course, it’s already happened. Why should we care? We are trapped in a civilization of technology and modernization, which robs us of the color in our homes, our appreciation for our upbringings, and our passion for humanity. Our stories are more than just stories; they are deeply embedded in our language, literature, classrooms, and daily lives. Human civilization, and especially our shared imagination, is unbelievably incredible. Dragons, whether wicked beasts or gentle giants, have been the subject of stories throughout the world for generations. Unconnected cultures on every continent of the planet had a dragon in their stories. Their existence is proof of a creativity forgotten in time.
I want to reignite the world's interest in its past by studying connections like these. I still believe in dragons because of their incredible enchantment, which has captivated me since childhood, and symbolized my life. Their stories piqued my curiosity about the rest of the world. Without them, I would not have discovered my love for history and culture. Dragons are a testament to the rich diversity of human imagination, a perfectly imperfect tale to represent the ingenuity and beauty of culture. By becoming part of the academic world that researches and unearths our history, my work will lead others to believe in dragons, too.