“Who R U?” the caterpillar asked Alice on that weird trip that was Wonderland. What would I have answered if it had been me? Dressed up in my best pinafore, chasing after a white rabbit, I might have replied…crazy! For the most part Alice in Wonderland, and other favorite childhood stories, question that never distinct truth: who are you? And more importantly who should you be? The daily self-flagellation induced by this all-important question has decreased the infamous self-esteem to undetectable levels at times. Fortunately, there is still something left to write.
There are no real rules that define my life, and that in itself could be its most central theme. Instead, survival and freedom encompass everything I’ve ever wanted. The main dilemma for me would be the precarious nature of each. Is one possible without the other, or must they co-exist? Some strange equilibrium, which I run to and from, simply trying to stay alive. So this is I: the contradiction, goddess, and whore, all wrapped up in one twisted dissymmetrical package. Tied with brown paper string, these are definitely some of my favorite things. To be all things and remain nothing, to possess brilliance and be trapped by the bottle of ambition. I must not have been rubbed the right way.
Still, I strive to cut myself from the many boxes I might check. African American, Intelligent, Female, and Queer…so many margins so little time. Everywhere I’ve been, I just didn’t fit in the right way, I wasn’t expected. My mother always said I was an argumentative child, but I think I was just getting ready for the world. And I was SO excited to arrive; I imagined the real world to be much like the plastic snowball worlds that kept on popping up in Heidi. Not so much, it would seem remains from the movies.
C’mon, you thought it would be the same too? Didn’t you? Thought that if you believed, everything would work out all right. If you had courage and roared at the right time, witches would melt for you. This idea of a perfect world has plagued the self I’ve struggled to create, much like locusts to the fields. Terrifying fresh new perfections, glistening with hope, and waving in a fractured sunshine. Always knowing that the clouds and blizzards of gnawing doubt were just around the corner.
So instead of no rules, maybe just one? Continual suspicion and disbelief; the mistrust of self that sinks into every pore of my being is the law that rules my land. Yet, I ooze a confidence that people persistently remark on. Egotistical, loud, and brash is how people consistently describe me. Quirky and comical, I can’t resist making a joke. But if you think I’m a light and funny person, you now realize your mistake! Oh, I’m carefree, in an Oh-my-god, I’m-going-to-die-of-shame way. This inaccurate observation of my bright and airy personality could make me laugh with all the force I have left to give the world. After I would think to myself, what is it about me that gives off this air of impenetrability? How is it, that to myself, I never add up so equally that I make sense? Yet, the words that come out of my mouth fit at times. Sometimes I do get to say what I mean, without me messing it up for me…figure that fucker out eh?
So these blissful moments caught by some chance and not a little bit of will, are how I go on. Somehow the strength to turn my back on perfection wells up from within and I open my eyes to the realities of all my flaws. I begin to realize that perhaps I’m not so stupid, boorish, and absolutely ridiculous after all. Founded on the freedom a fractured self provides and the survival instinct of uncertainty, I will find a place in this world. For in contradiction is my truth, and with this beauty I find the will to still believe. This is my story.