I have a lot of issues with the idea of perfection. I mean who doesn’t? Everyone’s always trying to tell you what’s right what the exact way to be. And the matter how much you trying tell you something you don’t care with society things you don’t want to fit in then you don’t need to fit in, at the end of the day some asshole is still going to be there at the back of your mind telling you that, actually, you really do care. For me there are two voices: the first was Joey Lempa, who called me fat in the first grade; the second was actually a boy in my grade in college who id never spoken to who decided to call me Sasquatch when I walked by. Whenever I’ve had a few weeks of high confidence and self love, the wounds that their words left behind will flare up, gnawing at my mind and heart. Telling me, Making me believe that I am not good enough for the world around me. That I’m not made for a world of beauty. When these demons crawling around in you chest, pointing out everything that could possibly ever be wrong with you, it’s hard to imagine that anyone could ever see the miraculous being that is you. And that’s when the anxiety sets in.

It’s like the agonizing process of trying to fall asleep, but it’s just your insides. They’re tossing and turning, writhing, trying to be at ease and comfort, but they can’t. They want to be still. Your mind wants that rest, but it can’t have it. Because all it can think of is what is wrong with you. What is wrong with you. What. Is. Wrong. With. You.
Wait what is wrong with you?
Nothing.
You are perfect.
You are perfect.
You are perfect.
The cries if the demons in my chest are drowned out by the soothing reassurances of the voices of those who love me most, of those, who want nothing more for me to see myself the way they see me.
And why shouldn’t i?

L’espirt de l’escalier.

Have you ever walked away from a conversation, and suddenly think of all the things you should’ve said? Ever laid in bed, turning over and over in your mind what you could’ve, what you should’ve said?

 

In French this is called L’espirt de l’escalier. It translates roughly to staircase wit. Mostly it refers to thinking of the perfect comeback moments after the altercation, but I think it also must also refer to the things you know you want to say, and kick yourself for not saying after.

 

But what if we said them?

 

What if we weren’t worried about the awkwardness because of the time elapsed?

What if we walked back up the stairs and marched back into the room and said that snappy comeback, no matter the awkwardness?

What if we knocked on the door once more and tell him that we love him?

What if we turn around and finally finally tell her she’s being a bitch and we don’t want to be treated this way?

What if we cross the room and just grab his face and kiss him?

 

Maybe there’s a reason we think about this stuff after…

 

Maybe because it’s what was meant to happen, if we only let it.

A lot of people my age are searching for something.

That force for everything we do.

That driving element that gives us goals.

That thing that makes us wake up in the morning.

That thing that keeps us awake at night.

That thing that gives us so much anxiety, whether internally or from our parents.

That thing that we might never even fucking find.

A lot of people think it’s a job.

Or making a lot of money.

Or having a lot of babies.

Or some life changing experience in an impoverished country.

Or falling in love.

Or inventing something that changes the world.

Me? Well. I think I’ve already found my purpose.

My purpose is to make a difference in the life of one person.

Just one.

I want to be able to look back at the end of my life and know,

just fucking KNOW

in my heart and in my mind that I might have changed that person’s world for the better.

That, I think, is my purpose.

This was my reflection on the Boston Marathon Bombing last year.

 

The events of today have shaken me to my very core. No. It’s deeper than that. It has taken my very roots and tangled them, twisted and contorted them until they are mere shadows of what they used to be. I’m terrified of the could have been. Those flashes of a future that does not, thankfully, exist are hovering above my consciousness like a cloud. I could have lost my best friend today. I love Erin with all my heart and soul. She’s been here for me for my whole life. When everything goes to shit, I will always have Erin. She could have been ripped away from me forever today. I’m not sure I could handle that. Thankfully, she’s still safe. She’s with people who love her. She’s still in my world. Still those slides that so often fog my vision of the present with unpleasant glimpses of a reality of negative possibility haunt me.

I now am afraid of the city in which I have found myself. Boston is where I found my center. Other than FLC, it was the one place that makes sense to me. It was where I was able to take control and let myself find adventure and be unafraid. It felt safe in a blanket of unexpected adventures. But now I even question whether my own mind is a safe place to be. If I can’t be comfortable in the one place where I thought I could hold my own, and if I feel a constant paranoia when thinking about the possibility of not being able to trust anyone around me, then where do I go from here?

I’m also afraid of tomorrow. That tomorrow everyone is going to be saying to me ‘where’s your god now?’ I don’t necessarily believe in God, but i have my faith because I need it. No one should use tragedy to prove the point that  a god may or may not exist. god exists in my mind because i need him to. I need to be able to look up at the stars and exhale and know that everything will work out the way that it’s supposed to because god has some sort of plan or strategy. I don’t know. I need that god to exist because it eases my mind.

On the subject of god, I believe we were given free will. I think god exists as an idea to guide us when we have unanswerable questions like this. I believe in the power of love and in the good in people. So when stuff like this happens, I’m at a loss. Because it is in the good and the love that I see god, or whatever. That’s how I experience god. But when stuff like this happens I can’t help but try to wrap my head around the human race. How could we have become so destructive? Has survival of the fittest mentality driven us to be like this? I know that as a race, we’ve had a history of violence, but it’s always because there is some gain. Lately, I have seen no gain to be had by any of this violence. None of this makes any sense to me.

The deaths and injuries and the lives ruined by the events of today are irreversible. Do people not understand that? Are people so caught up in their beliefs and their creeds that they cannot see that the deaths of even one person shreds the souls of hundreds? Thousands, even?

And what’s worse? One of the deaths today was a child. Not even one of the injuries. One of the 2 reported deaths was of an 8 year old boy. What could this boy have possibly done? He hadn’t used his free will to hurt anyone so severely to have deserved this early departure from this world. Again, I don’t think god does this. We did this. The human race.

But something that I do need to remind myself, and everyone around me, is that there is still goodness in this world. And that we should not and cannot allow the actions of a few corrupt and vile individuals obscure the genuine generosity of thousands. There are so many people taking action to help the victims of this terrible tragedy. As my friend [and role model] Nicole said to me after the Sandy Hook tragedy: “ I just want you to know that while it never gets easier to watch that kind of thing, the strength and generosity that can come out of those things is the most powerful thing in the whole world. There are still good people and good things still happen to good people. In a way, sometimes these things later on open your eyes to how deep people can reach into themselves and be good.” I believe in this goodness. I believe that it is there, and it is stronger than any evil or harm that can be thrown at us. The strongest weapon we have is love.

Make fun of me for saying that. I don’t care. Dumbledore was right when he said to pity those who live without love. Love is the strongest thing we have. It drives people insane. It can hurt like nothing else. But it’s what we have. It’s so beautiful and wonderful and it allows us to do what we do every goddamn day. It is love that drives us. It is love that allows us to feel this sympathy that we have for those victims of tragedies like today. Love is what gives us the strength and will to help those who have been affected in any way shape or form. Love is. Love simply is.

Today’s tragedies have ripped my soul. Shredded it. But it has also remade it. It has taken this broken pieces and placed them on a wall to be part of a mosaic collage that catches light in new and more exciting ways than ever before. Is it still broken? Yes, of course. Is it the way it was before? Of course not. But is it still beautiful? Absolutely. My soul has been broken and remade by the events of today. I understand less about the world than I ever have before, and yet I don’t think I’ve ever had a clearer grasp on reality before.

Tonight I took part in a sort of social justice talent show at school. I wrote and performed a piece (featured here “Superhero”) about what it means for me to be an ally of the LGBTQ community. At first, I was hesitant to do it. One because I figured I wouldn’t really have the time (which I didn’t), and two because I really hate reading anything I write out loud, much less in front of a few hundred people. Against my better judgement, I did it anyway.
And boy, am I glad I did.
As I took the stage, along side other speaking for the same cause, as a band of Bollywood dancers waited in the wings, the step group and feminism activism club waited and cheered from the cheap seats, I suddenly felt a kind of oneness with the world. It was like I was intoxicated by the beauty and the sheer good will of the people around me. Every single one of those people had joined together to raise awareness, and to promote the culture and wellness of whatever area they were passionate about. No one held back; there was nothing left unsaid, no energy left unused. Everyone was there for the purpose of love and equality, and I could feel it radiating through my bones and into my lips as I held the microphone, poised to spill my soul onto the crowd.
This feeling still hasn’t left me, it’s still tingling my finger tips and lighting my heart. If everyone felt this way, this desire to love and be loved in such a peaceful way all the time, maybe that justice and equality that we all crave would be within our reach.

On Turning 20

On turning 20.

 

Why aren’t you freaking out? You’re not a teenager anymore! You’re getting old. You’re one year closer to dying. You’re aging. You’re getting old.

Well, that’s typically how birthdays work, isn’t it?

I’m getting older, yes.

I’m aging, yes.

I’m getting closer to dying, yes.

But every single day, I’m living more and more.

Everyday, I fall in love with someone or something.

Everyday I’m learning something different about myself.

Everyday, I’m becoming the person I’m going to be.

 

I’m turning 20. I’m entering my 20s.

I’m entering that stage that all of the romance novels are written about, all the exciting movies are about people in their twenties who are on their path to self discovery.

I’m entering another decade of adventure.

Being nineteen brought a lot of things I wasn’t expecting;

experiencing new things,

kissing new lips,

tasting new adventures,

making mistakes I never thought I would make (twice),

getting caught,

finding stars in the souls of new friends,

finding black holes in the souls of old ones,

gazing into universes of the eyes of people I didn’t used to know,

bouncing in and out of what I wanted to be love,

making strides for my futures,

reading new words my eyes never knew existed,

allowing new music to grace my ears,

new words grace my mouths

having doors open,

hearing other ones slam,

writing poems I never knew I could write,

delving into corners of my spirituality I never fathomed adventuring into,

holding new hands,

caressing new fingers,

finding new havens—even in the most familiar places,

taking new steps

wearing old shoes

breaking old habits

keeping old promises

venturing into new nights,

and watching new daybreaks.

If that’s what happened when I wasn’t expecting it, what’s going to happen when I’m ready for the tidal wave of change and adventure that 20 will inevitably bring me?