Yo soy una mujer Dominicana, with skin of African queens gently kissed by the sun; hair of untamed curls that relax once they feel comfortable.... I rome the streets of Brooklyn, where I was born & raised. You'll never really understand me, I don't really understand me. You are in my space right now, welcome. Get comfortable, enjoy.
Never broken a bone or even experienced child labor but Lord do I know pain. Had I thought for a second that growing pains would be this hard, I would’ve stayed in the womb. Or at least fought against my mom’s pushing with all my might and when I was old enough to speak, convince her I only felt safe with her as my resting place. That’s all in the past now. Should have known I wouldn’t want to always be grown up. Always in a rushing anticipation for maturity. I can’t believe how far I’ve let myself fall in the name of temporary surges of euphoric energy. Let alone, the bravery it takes to get back up again, even when my serotonin wont.
These days, I find myself searching for what’s underneath that thin layer of reality. Coercing myself to formulate sentences out loud to prove my faith. What I gain more times than not is a pseudo coat of armor blocking my fearful doubts from having it’s way with my sanity and whatever else my faith seemingly has under control. Gripping on nostalgic inserts at every waking moment. I seek out the youthful laughter that once was mine. Too much, too soon: I think when I feel too conscious for my peers, partners, and parents. Too convicted to my thoughts I shy away with laughter and smiles. Like, “Thank you for seeing me today. Haha, I mean no one else has.” In reality, I mean, “You’re probably the only person who noticed how insincere my smile was and took the time to inquire further.” It’s extremely painful when the world doesn’t notice you or your mistakes.
At this point in the entry you’re probably wondering what pain is she referring to? I’m talking about the conscious decisions I make in my day to day to tend to things that lead to my demise. Entertaining those things feeds my pessimistic ego and leaves me with only the certainty of my fears. I cant stand uncertainty. When I gain consciousness of my decisions, I sit alone feeling foolish and angry. And no sooner do I realize my anger I feel the pain. It’s kind of like, finding a cut from the trail of dried blood on your clothes far after recess is over and you still muster up the nerve to cry. Most times, crying seems like the incorrect response to such feelings. Either insufficient or unnecessary depending on the pain. It takes time to recognize that kind of pain. So…
Instead of overrated cries I practice dwelling on good ideas and positive solutions. A friends words on courage swayed me to view things in a different light. In that, courage is not an innate characteristic. It’s what happens when you make the instinctive decision not to give up on yourself. And so, you laugh on a loan. In confidence, knowing that while everything might seem painful at the moment, with your best foot forward, happiness won’t trail too far behind. Had my self-awareness not taught me anything else, it taught me that every new moment is a new opportunity to have hope. Knowing the only other true option besides hope is hopelessness and who really wants to get all wrapped up in that?
Now that I’m 22 years removed from the womb, I’m realizing that crying does not get me what I want. As the world certainly does not cry for me. These days I find myself laughing in hope that when the world is ready to tell me a joke, I wont feel too mature to listen.
Laughing through my growing pains,
I’m an orange moon. Reflecting the light of the sun.