Madison In Central and East Asia's rocky deserts-- a place where weather is unpredictable--- survives the Bactrian camel. These herds are located mainly in the Gobi Desert of Mongolia and China. With the annual precipitation averaging 5 inches, this dry, tan, rocky terrain sees very little water. The vegetation is sparse and rare. Wisps of gray shrubs woosh in the air as the wind whizzes around, bringing piles of sand along with it. 

This two-humped animal trudges along, pushing through the sandy wind storms. Their shaggy coat hangs thick off their muscular body. This protects them in winter and falls away as seasons change and temperatures rise. Big, bushy eyebrows and lengthy, thick eyelashes protect them from the sand. Their nostrils, which are sealed shut as the sand pushes against them, open up to breathe when the sandstorm subsides. Big, flat footpads help them navigate the rough, rocky terrain and shifting desert sands without sinking under their own massive weight. Bactrian bodies have been molded to survive this terrain. 

The key to their survival is their humps. Their humps stand tall on top of their flat back-- storing fat that can be converted to water and energy when food and water are not available. Due to the low precipitation, plants are commonly dry and can provide energy for camels for sometimes only a few weeks. The Gobi desert averages about one rainfall every 3 years. During these rare rainfalls, the plants become filled with water. Bactrians can use these plants to drink up to 30 gallons of water in only 13 minutes. This will give them the ability to sustain themselves without water for a very long time. Their coat of fur keeps them warm in the colder months, but they shed during the hotter months. Their skin stays dry even in these hot temperatures to conserve fluids.

I wished I was a Bactrian camel the most during my parent’s divorce. I was 11 years old, barely understanding what the separation of my parents meant. I went from having the same routine every day to having a new routine every week. I had to help move my mom from our spacious house to a cramped apartment three towns over. 

My room at my dad’s house represented myself and everything I loved. Hanging off the slanted roof was a purple mandala tapestry, which captured all my favorite colors and patterns. The transparent shades complimented the glowing sun coming through the large window. My dream catcher and my grandpa’s rosary hung off the bright window. The walls were painted in a pale purple with posters of my favorite basketball players and music artists scattered around. My drawings filled the empty spaces, each one representing something significant to my life. Pictures stood tall on my nightstand-- capturing the moment of my softball team’s state championship win, making it last forever. Bright LED lights lined the walls, illuminating every corner of my room. 

I remember the first time I saw my mom’s apartment, the dull, red bricks, the pieces of concrete crumbling off the walls as I dragged my finger against the unfamiliar borders. A warm, faint smell of smoke and cedar filled my nose. The historic wood floors creaked under each of my footsteps. I pushed open a thin, beige door. Sunlight peeked through the thin shade of the small, singular window. Darkness crowded the room. Rough, forest green carpet laid on the floor. Tall, brick walls surrounded it. I was looking at the room I would call my bedroom every other week for the next two years before her next move. My mind couldn’t wrap around the fact that this was one of my homes now. It felt like a prison. I wish I could navigate this rocky terrain as easily as the camel. I did not have those built-in survival skills for the losses I felt.

The realization of having to balance school, sports, social life, and now a complicated house life seemed impossible, and it was impossible at the beginning. I had to pack a suitcase every week and change living spaces. On top of that, my sister moved to Worcester after the divorce, so I was completely on my own. Every day was a mental battle. I didn’t understand how to adjust, and I had no one to help me figure it out. 

I felt like a stranger walking through my dad’s house. Our long, wooden dining table that once held four people would now only hold two. I sat down and looked to the left where my mom would sit. An empty black chair stood in her place. That chair once held a talkative, happy woman who would make everyone at dinner laugh. Silence had replaced it. I looked directly in front of me to the only other chair filled. A once smiling man looked down at his plate with a dull expression. 

Now with two houses, I felt like I had no home. 

I felt invisible. I had so much going on, but no one could help me. So many people were there for me, but not there for me. I was too young for any of my friends to understand. This whole new way of life felt like a huge puzzle, in which I just couldn’t get the pieces to match up.

But I persevered through this rough weather like the camel. During the time of the divorce, I powered through the tough moments. I didn’t sulk and complain that I wasn’t able to go outside and play basketball or hang out with friends when I was with my mom. The area was too dangerous, and I had no friends there. All of my escape routes were blocked off. I was stuck in that little apartment where there was nothing. I was left with turmoil in my mind. 

But, I learned to figure out how to get out of those dark headspaces. I learned how to shed my coat like a Bactrian camel-- adjust to the new temperature. I picked up music and drawing. I spent most of my days learning how to play the ukulele or just sketching in a notebook. It wasn’t the most fun thing to do, but it got me out of my head. Just like how Bactrians persevere and provide for themselves, I did the same. I figured out how to complete this puzzle on my own. My grades never dropped. I still excelled at sports as I did before the divorce. I maintained healthy relationships with my friends. I showed no sign of damage or struggle.

But, I was damaged. I was struggling. I still am, four years later. I wish I was a Bactrian camel at these times. Able to adjust to unexpected changes thrown at them. Moving from different terrain and climate easily, their body modifying to the environmental demands.

I wish I was able to shift from house to house effortlessly. No mental or emotional strain. I wish my mind could adapt to the parent change every week. Adjust to their new demands and how they wanted me to act. To be able to go from the feeling of freedom at my dad’s house, where he did not care what I did or where I went. I was able to bike to my friend's house at 8:00 pm on a school night and come back two hours later. His house was surrounded by my friends and the community I grew up with. 

My mom's rules were restrictive. Her demands were harsher. I wasn’t allowed to go outside because the area was not safe. I had to go to sleep early because the drive to school in the morning was a half hour. I had no one around me that I knew or a town I was familiar with.

I wish I could undergo this change every week without shutting down, without closing off my feelings, without walking through the steps without care, just doing what I am supposed to do. 

This is where I am similar to a Bactrian camel. As much as Bactrians power through effortlessly, there are times where they just are unable to.  As humans farm and mine, the Bactrian's habitat disappears. This makes gathering resources for survival very difficult for them. Their once huge, full humps shrink. When they miss the chance to gather enough resources to survive, their humps become small, flabby, and useless.

I persist through as many days, moves, problems, and fights as I can. Then there is a point where I just can't anymore. I give up. Sometimes the outside factors are just too much. My mind just empties. My humps shrink.

But, whenever I doubt, I remind myself that I got through that tough period of time by myself, and if I can go through that alone, I can do anything.