23 Can you DO something for ME
Picture walking down an alleyway, haunted by recurring questions, on an endless path forever reapproaching yourself, in a life crowded by those around you, a mind of emptiness with useless years of rest, thinking the unthinkable, craving everlasting thrill, a question you ask recurring – where am I if not found…. you’re lost at twenty-two.
A year ago today, I was crashing a quinceanera, drinking a modelo, and listening to Odesza trauma dumping on a local in Mexico via Google translate. Twelve months later, I’m in my favorite city, yet, on a particular level of energy, reflecting the light of the Eiffel Tower, thinking to myself how two tearful years ago I dreamed of where I am today.
Astray to those months of uncensored mania, questioning my life, so desperate to be found.
I think of more mental times. Times as a little girl wanting to be someone else. Someone who loved her unconditionally, someone who spoke her language without needing to translate her soul, or even better someone who knew everything already, understanding every dark twist and loving her for it.
Imagine thirteen years ago, an age that did me dirty, July 26th, one of the 365 days I cursed. Not because of the tears that coated my sheets, or a reason for an alcoholic in my life to celebrate, but the face I put on for all those who felt obligated to understand me exclusively on this not-so-special day.
Eventually, I had a streak of bad birthdays. Unable to justify the point of celebrating my life – it was depressing, far-fetched if you will - and nothing compared to a good cry. To be loved meant so much to me. And I felt loveless. Even on the day of my birthright.
When I faked the story enough, when I lived to fight another year, I forever tried to reconcile a hopelessly textured heart. Wishing to be easily defined. Becoming lost in the idea of what a birthday should be. No longer the little girl who laughed at the fear of insecurity but the type of girl one may think is nothing more than who she’s been told to be.
I became anxious to say the right thing, not knowing if distraction or sympathy was desired. Stressed over the presentation of self in everyday life. Adapting to each one of my characters. Trying to make sense of imitation and its expectations.
And with every birthday I sometimes wish I could go back in time, I feel, I’d be a better person. Or a different person, maybe more myself, or less myself. I’ve never known which. Every year I question what shape my own self really was, or if there was no real me at all.
It’s been this battle, the way I’m perceived, like my heroine. In fact, it’s my addiction. I’m hungry to be known. It makes me want to disappear. Hide away from the urge to be understood. I feel transparent when I forget people don’t know everything about me.
Except in times when I do things for myself. Like writing, pulling out my camera, and getting lost in photographs so I never forget those moments. It’s when I embody adrenaline. And feel known.
How silly it is to want to disappear, with no sense of self, as life unfolds before me. Be one who desires to be understood by another heart before my own. Falling victim to feelings of nothing. The little girl I once was deserves more love. She’s tired of trying to be someone she’s not.
Just a year ago things were so different.
Now at 23, I’m beginning to understand.
I’m grounded with no ceilings. I’m lost in my own freedom of acceptance. Not tied down to one definition. But an abundance of all things worth loving.
I’m unpredictable. Wild, in search of peace. Unforgettable, curious, a wanderer. The sunset speaks to my soul, I’m a lady of many secrets only known to the moon. My eyes like the green sea, a mess of gorgeous chaos. An angelic woman with devilish thoughts who has a thing for deep conversations and dancing in the rain. A brutally soft soul. Who looks past grand gestures and finds that the most romantic moments in life are subtle & small. Like a birthday candle in a jar of jelly.
Knowing I am made from my moments of laughter, puddling tears, loneliness, kind strangers, and my parents. I, myself, am my perspective in life, not others. I am simply good enough. And just trying to be, to exist, and enjoy what’s right in front of me. A little luxury of life <3
ardently k.
