Five thousand-five hundred-forty-two days, living in a world where no one’s perfect…i’m not perfect, she’s not perfect, he’s not perfect, they’re not perfect, so why should you?? That’s how long I’ve been living in this world but I barely remember what I ate last night. Yeah, we might breathe the same air, be brunettes, have the same body shape or even have the same last name but we all have a mini camera video taping our lives.

I remember the day I was bullied…that day that I came home crying to my mom telling her that I was being called a bunch of cruel names and that I was bullied since I started school, I remember the day I got a puppy, the day our puppy died, the day my niece was born, the day of my sisters quince, the day I first tried boba, the day I met my family in mexico, the day I first heard my first “i’m proud of you”…a teacher had told me that and I was packing up but I wanted to cry because I was trying my hardest to bring that F to an A it’s just I didn’t have anyone to give me motivation, the day someones car crashed into ours…my mom had to go to surgery days later due to the crash because she had already done surgery to her arm since she had to work, the day I moved house to house, the day I first saw my mom burst out crying…my brothers godmother had died and his godfather called her crying. The day I almost fainted in the bathroom…i was in Mexico that’s all I remember and I hadn’t eaten anything for the past 3 days and I have done that a couple times in the past but that doesn’t matter.  But I don’t remember the day or the year those moments happened or why it happened.

But I do remember that day…the day I saw what my dog had made for me, a sky full of clouds with a sneak peak of the sun and the ray of sunlight coming out front a house as if something beautiful was waiting for me on the other side…memories like that, that have me wanting to live the fullest. Moments like having family gatherings during holidays and spending all night having fun, moments like wanting to go to school because school was my favorite place, the moments where I had a collection of barbies and I didn’t care what people thought about them, moments where I thought boys had cooties, the moments where L.O.L dolls were popular and beyblades were popular, moments when we had field trips were so fun and field day was the thing I was most excited about.

I gazed at the lush environment of trees enclosed next to a dark oak bridge. As I approached the ocean the wind increased in velocity, my hair swaying back and forth. A moment of peace before vibrant beach volleyball. Sitting on a rectangular balcony catching up with friends back home.

Golf cars whizzing by with people complaining about a pool being dirty. Palm trees swaying back and forth in an almost dance like movement. The tresillo beat could be heard throughout the park. Strolling across the tiny stores that are set up at night. People pester me to buy small petite dolls and shiny jewelry. When the moon was past  it’s peak I would scurry past the merchants. Not a soul near when I would enter the beautiful matte black gym with translucent lights shining down. I would have to work to accompany the amount of food I had consumed. 

Waiting diligently in the line to get a table for the tiki bar, it was worth the wait. The extravagant design and structure of the food created a creative atmosphere. As I would consume unquantifiably large amounts of dishes. Trying different cuisines from different continents. Desserts upon desserts trying to balance my meals was difficult. The volleyball games were high octane with even more tresillo loud beats in the background. Rapid waves would be sent back and forth alongside the human sized volleyball. On the plane ride back I would reminisce of the enjoyable experience of Mexico.

From what i know, not all memories are supposed to be good and comforting. I’m writing this as a way to try and let myself forgive you and start talking to you again.

You were supposed to be there for me and listen to me when i needed you most. I remember all those times you barged in my room just to find me laying there with tears streaming down my face, the sounds of you yelling at me and telling me i’m not allowed to be upset and that i’m not allowed to cry because you think it’s stupid when i do piercing through my ears. The feeling of my face stinging on halloween night because you didn’t give me a chance to explain myself to you and instead taking it a step further. At times I can still smell the food you were making the first time you went back into your old ways with me just for defending somebody. I’m not as worried about disappointing you anymore as i was when i was younger, I know what’s coming now when i do something wrong and i’ve learned to take everything you give me. I’d obviously still love you but i don’t know if my memories will ever let me fully forgive you and im aware they will they will eventually and I’m longing for the day our relationship, your way of taking things, and just you in general changes for the better.

69 miles away from home. It’s colder. The fog runs through the sky like ocean waves here every morning. The air smells like moldy mushrooms rushing up my nose, yuck. The community is small and quiet. But it’s nothing like home. Home was loud and dangerous. I’m kinda ashamed of saying that.

Although I refer to it as home, it’s no longer home. Just a place I visit sometimes. I miss my friends & family. The crazy adventures we used to go on. Rocking to the beat of the base from the music from the loud parties, Lord knows we were all too young. liquor bottles, red cups, soda cans. We destroyed abandoned homes, skipped school. Party animals. Although im 69 miles away from the air i’m used to breathing. I feel free. Someone asked how I would describe baltimore. I honestly have no clue. Nothings good or bad about it. But it has and always will be HOME.

In 2021, I said goodbye to most I knew, friends, teachers, and even some family, since I knew I’d have to leave. My mom told me she had met someone, a man. Someone who’d try to be my friend, nothing else. Someone that wasn’t going to replace anything- or anyone. He wouldn’t try to be a father figure – someone, something I’ve never really had. I of course was happy for her, for finally meeting someone whom she could be happy with, but she knew as much as I did that a lot would change. We moved to Kennett square a little after they got married. I’m exaggerating, we moved in the DAY OF, a few hours later.

I was happy to move, I had always wanted to move from the apartment I had been living in since I was born. I had felt very cramped in the space I was in, as I practically had the living room be my bedroom. I had always lived like this though, and although I had always complained before, I regretted ever saying anything the moment I stepped foot in the new home I was going to live in. I felt so out of place, and sometimes I still do. I would visit my old home every two weeks on the weekends to talk to my family members. I knew then what I had taken for granted so many years, I knew that that was my home. That sudden overnight change didn’t change what home was to me. Over the span of the year, I tried my best to make that space my own, so that I didn’t feel like a stranded person on a lonesome island.

My mother and I had been on shaky terms for a bit before the wedding because I had come out to her. I came out to her as nothing in specific because I didn’t know how to translate my shaky words to Spanish and just hoped she’d understand. She did, most of it. Coming out to her is something I never imagined myself doing. It’s something she probably never saw coming, something she had no idea… is what I thought until she was yelling at me about the whole world knowing I was this or that before she did. She told me she had looked through all of my social media. She already knew. She was waiting for me to talk to her about it, which would have been nice in theory, if she hadn’t been so upset. I get it, as a mother, all she wanted was to look out for her kid. Her reaction to it.. was explosive. It was harmful. It didn’t make me any more confident in my identity or any less real- it just made me lose some respect for her as my mother, it hurt my self-esteem and made me question everything. I was already questioning almost everything, it made me feel so much worse. I am now at a point where every year- on the day I came out, I am repeating to her, that I am still who I am.

The bright blue, chlorine filled water was vigorously splashing around. The screaming and yelling that resembled fun was echoing the surrounding areas. It was the perfect embodiment of a pool party. We wanted to end the summer with a bang, and this was the perfect way to do it. We all arrived, feeling the hot, sticky air, put our stuff down, and scurried into the water competing for the best jump. After that, we splashed around talking to each other. There were somewhere around 15 people at this pool. After a while, food got brought out, and we were drooling just smelling it. We all sat down at some tables on this empty Saturday afternoon, and we stuffed our faces with food. After enjoying the taste of pizza, wings, and more, we decided to head back into the pool. 

Splish splish splash splash splash splash. All I could hear was aggressive swimming as we entered a massive game of pool football. The rules were this: A normal game of football, but your head had to be brought underwater to be tackled. With 15 people packed into this small pool, the second you felt the wet leather touch your hands, you instantly had a lot of people chasing after you. After a football game full of rule breaking and yelling, we decided to just swim and talk for a while longer before heading out. I reflected on the long day later that night and realized it was a fun day.

‘Twas the night of one of my first Halloweens, I had been newly introduced to such a holiday, and this night in particular was awful, yes, for a day of celebration.

“Wherefore hath we went from our abode?” quoth I, ambling abroad amidst my mother and father, elsewhere from my brother, who remained at our residence. Within the damp and dark streets of Kennett Square we walked beneath the sable sky among the hooting of owls and cries of bats. We sauntered thenceforth unto a daunting home. My parents brought me upon the staircase upward and a sudden terror befell me. As my finger crept towards the doorbell, my mother encouraged me. I was but a mere ant to the house, which, coated in spiderwebs, seemed to me as a den of arachnids. The windchimes sounded in response to the wind, and the knell of the bell sent me to hell.

A witch opened the door, cloaked in green. Warts on her nose, she was a wicked, obscene, fiend. She grabbed from her twine pail a rotten tangerine, and unto me she rendered it, which demeaned the scene that heretofore was sufficiently mean. I cried in horror of what befell my bag and refined my hatred of the old hag.

“Fie! What hath thou bestowed me? What a terrible, terrible thing! Wherefrom hath thou received such an ort?” I demanded, stifling at the putrid and horribly poignant scent.

“Beest as thou mayest, but in my despite thou shalt not discard my bequeathment!” the witch erupted.

“Nay, I shall!” said I. And I ran back to the warmth of my parents. But before we could leave that wretched woman’s house, she uttered a malison, “Thou shalt not forget such a thing, for this thing itself is but a bounty that thou hast forsaken! And so this shall haunt thee for evermore!”

And thereafter I have suffered such a malediction, and it has burdened me. I still struggle with the terrible evocativeness that she put onto me. And shall that terrible beldam ever reappear to me, I shall slay her with great might.

Maybe I would feel this again. The cold, icy wind drifting across my blushed face. The boom of the music roaring in my stomach. The scraping sounds of my blades sweeping across the ice. Maybe. What a compelling word. I still feel the tension of the judges eyes on me. Always critiquing. Always criticizing. But I enjoyed gliding across the ice feeling like I could fly. I could fly. Maybe. Maybe if I had more time to realize. Maybe if I was more open. Maybe if I stopped comparing. All these thoughts coming to me at once, my blade stabs into the ice and I fly. I feel the wind circle around me and my dress swirls and spins. Maybe if I had made the landing. Maybe if I had better balance. Maybe if I landed. But I didn’t. I fell. The peering eyes, the gasps of the audience. Failure. My legs are aching, but I have to get up, I need to continue. Getting back up, people cheer. The pressure is immense, but I will continue, I thought. I thought, maybe, maybe if I could stick the other landings, I might have a chance. As the music comes to a close, I am out of breath, in my ending pose, bowing to the judges. Maybe I could feel this again.