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Do you ever just get so tired of waking up early to be the first one at your job because you want to emotionally prepare to bare everyone’s weight as the day goes by?

Do you ever get tired of pretending to use the restroom in public spaces to breathe and cry?

Do you ever get tired of processing the trauma and abuse that makes up your existence, your memories, physical spaces, walls, your thoughts, mechanisms, insecurities, fears?

Do you ever? Do you ever just get tired of carrying the weight of your household? Of being the sole capable provider of food, electricity, and household necessities?

Do you ever get tired of struggling to juggle finishing a degree that will shape your future as a capitalistically productive being yet totally exclude you and oppress you just as much as the forces of your circumstances do because of your categorization under an oppressive state?

Do you? DO YOU?

Do you ever get tired of being manipulated into believing that you are the cause of all of the abuse and violence you faced under an abusive relationship? Do you ever get tired of internalizing abuse and becoming your own source of scrutiny and hatred?

Do you ever get so tired that you can’t remember most of your life because through all of the discourse and pain your consciousness has chosen to cope by choosing to suppress? To lie? To hide itself from you?

Do you ever get so tired of feeling so powerless that your purpose in this life seems to be nonexistent although through it all you still have the privilege of living and breathing and struggling?

Yeah, I’m tired. I’ve been tired.

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Given that this year has been the most emotionally and mentally difficult for me to confront in a while, it’s bittersweet to feel different; whole, detailed.

Thinking back to all of the adventures, the first times, and the infinite amount of support that I’ve been lucky enough to have from the people I love, I feel ready to leave behind the hopelessness that stuck around while I fell deeper and deeper in the black hole that haunted my thoughts. If I had to describe 2017 in one word, it would be ‘transition’. And the biggest transition I endured this year was finding out who I am and where I come from.

I learned that it’s not okay to be treated like you don’t matter; like you’re a stepping stone for someone else’s opportunism.

I learned that while I was and still am too busy defending the wellbeing of the people I can’t live without, I forget to look out for myself and my sanity. I give a lot which is not necessarily a bad thing, but I also loathe in self-hatred and self-deprecation. This is not okay.

I learned to be more comfortable in my own skin and to take note of my digitizing nature when it comes to measuring my body and my growth. I learned that I can’t expect people to accept me for who I am but that I also can’t accept or normalize the unfounded cruel nature of people who are insecure and would rather take you down than drown in their misery.

I learned that second chances are earned, not given. That no matter what perceptions people have of my life and what I’ve been through, they truly don’t know what I am and who I am as a whole; thus, not being an opinion worth listening to.

I learned to forgive even through the most painful betrayals. Yet to never forget, because I repressed so much pain from the past that I became a prime target for pain in the present. Blind to it, refusing to accept the truth.

I came to terms with the superficiality of things. Materialism, peer pressure, group think, group anything really. I’m replacing voluntary social maneuvering with personal autonomy (still working on it).

And last but not least, I’ve implanted the thought of not settling for status quo in my head. I have a lot of projects and ideas that I want to develop and grow in the next year and I feel more eager and demanding of myself to get things done.

I can’t say this has been easy, decipherable, “enlightening” like most call it. All I can say is that it was painful, horrid, haunting, scary, suffocating, and nostalgic. And I think that’s the most honest description I can give you.

I’ve come to think a lot about the words “growing up” and what they actually mean. Given that I’ve come to hate measuring things to go up or down or big or small (in an abstract way of course), those words don’t mean much anymore. I spend my days thinking just about growing as a concept and a scale where I don’t measure the highs and the lows but instead measure what the intrinsic meaning of those experiences are, their origins, how to move on from them, and how I can change and improve.

Growing is more of a cycle than a scale and hopefully, the eclipse that is 2018 brings even more growth and a little less pain.

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Your eyes are deceiving,

craving a reaction to spark a contraction

an infatuation with being wanted but wanting not,

raiding the feelings established to fall no more

crumbling them into manipulation,

a mere deception of who you really want to give in to temptation

it’s you again, you again

just you, more you, and no “I”

 

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How long has it been? a month? two? another birthday?

It’s odd to come back here to the cloud of thoughts that linger in written works about identity and self. I think the strongest reason why I haven’t been able to write a single word down in the past 2 months has been the inaudibility of my thoughts as I tried to learn what my next step of growth is. From the beginning, the whole point of getting away from the noise was to come back to a place of complete and utter solitude that didn’t frighten me like it did in Miami. Being alone had become the cancer to my being as it sparked constant pain, confusion, panic attacks, and a black hole of sadness.

But why? Why did I always feel like being alone was the end? Why did not spending a day doing something with someone feel like being asphyxiated by time and being diluted into a morphine dose? Why did I feel as drugged when I was alone as I did when I was drugged when dying? These are all the questions that continue to haunt me every day. Even when some answers become clear.

As I arrived in Ecuador I chose to travel with my family to my home town of Guayaquil and spend a weekend there to see my grand aunt (more like gma) and other family that I had lost touch with. But even saying that is bleak to the reality I was walking into. A couple years back, when my Dad left my house after assaulting my mother, there was a fall out with my dad’s side of the family. Ever since my father sat me down and blamed his mental illness and struggles on me, the words that were repeated by family blood have been reproduced and internalized as I deal with my depression. I received several calls from family members (I wish I had the energy to be petty and call them out one by one but honestly I have accepted they’re not worth it) calling me to tell me what a huge mistake I had made by speaking out about the violence and abuse that I experienced at home and throughout my life. I was called names, insulted, threatened, and once again blamed for having destroyed my father’s life and reminded how hurt he was by my actions. This cycle lasted for about 3 months until me and my mom decided to leave behind our phone numbers and take security measures against anyone who actively harassed us. However, through the years I’ve analyzed my relationships with “family” and thought a lot about the people I grew up with and who meant something to me; those who were more than just forced interactions.

There were a few people that I had loved and rooted for my whole life which I had contacted some months or years after my father left my house and my life because I was lost and lonely. These people turned their backs on me and ignored me, as if we hadn’t lived the moments we did, as if we hadn’t shared our lives and sorrows together, as if the apple didn’t fall far from the tree and it was okay to still ignore the fact that domestic violence is rampant in our family. I was hurt and felt alone after trying to reach out to the people I loved and had been rejected for whatever narrative my family or my father fed to them, rather than the truth.

Being on a 10-12 hour bus to Guayaquil, sitting there next to the window on the right side in the 10th row, I went back to remembering my childhood, whatever memories I hadn’t suppressed, remembering the people that brought happiness in times of peril, remembering the locations that had weaved love into my soul at a young age and I, again, started to feel alone, isolated, unwanted, crazy, y como dicen por ahi.. “la vaca negra de la familia.”

Arriving in Guayaquil also translated into fear for me once I knew my father was staying in my family home in the center of the city; the house I’ve mentioned before, the walls that raised me. I was afraid to run into the person that destroyed me, the person that broke me, and disconnected me from society, the truth, myself, emotions, trust, love, and most of all having a father. I was afraid to see myself in him and to forget what these 4 years taught me about myself. That I was worthy of happiness, love, and that I wasn’t a waste in the world.

I spent time with my mom’s family the whole weekend feeling loved and appreciated and having the opportunity to see people I thought I’d never see again. This mended all the other doubts and demons that hid in my conscience until I could escape again to another location that didn’t remind me of people that left me behind as I passed each and every street corner I remembered walking through as a small child. And then came Quito….

Quito to me meant liberation and emancipation. It was the true first time I’d have my own apartment and space, have the liberty to travel (alone or accompanied) the country when I wanted and where I wanted, I’d be close enough to family so that I’d see them often but far enough to be alone, like I knew I needed to be. It meant growth; personal and spiritual. Yet, I adequately used this newfound freedom and space to throw myself into a tank of transformations on and off for the two months I stopped writing. I started going out often, traveling every weekend, and seeing what I could be capable of as I left behind fear after fear every week. I would say the peak time for me was traveling to Cotopaxi and Baños in September. In Cotopaxi, one of the largest volcanoes here in Ecuador, I conquered my fear of heights while conquering my health with it. The elevation in Cotopaxi is close to 5,000 feet high. Thus, making it hard to breathe and hike up the volcano as easily as other mountains would come. However, arriving in Cotopaxi that weekend my mission was to prove to myself that my health wasn’t going to determine my next steps in life and whatever they entailed. It was much more about how much I could push myself and break the worries implanted into me by doctors who think they know everything about me and my medical condition, than about simple adventure and exploration. And I’m glad to say that I proved that and more.

Being sick is something that I close to never disclose to others, let alone the greater public. I can count with my fingers the people that know about what I went through and it’s not to say that I’m proud of hiding it like a secret that must be taken to the grave and incinerated with my ashes, it’s just that I’m often ashamed and scared of the reactions that it produces from those who sit and listen.

I think that for some, asking about what happened out of curiosity fulfills their need to confirm or deny whatever assumptions they have about what happened to me by looking at my scars and fixating on the way I speak. For the longest time, whenever people would do this I would replay a memory from my days in the hospital when my mom would sit by my bedside and use my iPod to play Maroon 5’s “She will be loved” and mumble the lyrics in broken English until the song approached the chorus and she could sing

“look at the girl with the broken smile,

ask her if she wants to stay a while”.

This would initially make me angry because I was that girl, with the infinite broken smile and a lifetime of trauma to get through. But eventually, it made me happy because even though I couldn’t hide the scars (no matter how hard I tried to) I could at least choose to keep people wondering and pondering as the ones who stared didn’t deserve to know the truth.

Climbing mountains and trekking to hidden waterfalls and forests though…. that was just a new level of intimacy reached with myself and the outside world. I’ve built such a strong connection with nature that sometimes and most days I refuse to leave my bed in the mornings because I’m too entertained with dreaming about nature and being outside in it, lost somewhere in the jungle or the Andes, talking to the trees and the shrubs and the rocks that hold life together. It showed me how much I need a space where this part of my identity can grow and flourish, a space in which I can walk for miles up and down a mountain to get to the next one behind it. It’s become part of the way I’m shaping my future and where I want to live it.

Baños was yet another personal test.. but more about moving on from the past than it was superficially about heights. I used to love heights as a child and adore climbing things up and down and around. However, after getting sick and a few other life crises, I somehow grew terrified of them and any fun activity attached to higher elevations. Baños is a small town settled under huge mountains and my favorite part of Baños is the swing at the end of the world which is all the way at the top of the mountain that hugs the town. Baños has a bunch of other attractions and waterfalls that lie over grand settlements of rock or in between bodies of water. I wanted to try doing canopy, canyoning, rafting, and anything along the lines of adventurous water/air activities that would help me loose my fear, as well as to go back to the swing at the end of the world and swing away my fear of heights. And I did, I went back petrified, got on the swing with the help of an amazing helper who was swinging people who got on it, and SWUNG. I asked to go again for a second time and swung as hard and far as it went for as long as I could and it would.

As far as the canopy goes, I chickened out on doing it but went on this swinging ball of destruction that repelled off a cliff and into practically the abyss of air above a small rocky river that flowed under a bridge.  I was scared shitless and screamed like a child for the first 5 seconds until my gut and my brain turned on their fight or flight mode and adrenaline came running rampant through veins and arteries all over my body. Then came the victory screams of happiness and the nonstop laughing as we were spun around while being swung into nothingness. That is one of my proudest moments, truly.

After my friends did canopy and we went on to explore the largest and (in my opinion) most beautiful waterfall in Ecuador; El Pailon del Diablo, we decided to have lunch and then look for a service that would take us rafting. However, we fell upon a service that offered Canyoning for a fair price for an hour after we arrived at their office to sign up for some activities. We decided this would be the best idea for all of us and we paid the fee and then ran back to the hostel to get changed before the next adventure unraveled. Canyoning is kind of climbing down a waterfall through the middle of the waterfall as water falls on your face and you slip (and sometimes fall) downwards. It was hands down my favorite activity in Baños although I didn’t end up conquering any fears by it.

As we wrapped up our trip we also went back to the “Casa del Arbol” where the swing at the end of the world is located for one more swing before leaving. When we arrived, we sort of walked around like we hadn’t gotten the chance to do the first day there as it was too late, and we did other swings and activities available around the main attraction. As I was walking around I saw one of my family members from Guayaquil and hugged her like I hadn’t seen her some weeks previously. She had brought her family on vacation before her girls started school and was so happy and excited to see me again in the most spontaneous way possible. That little encounter left me as happy as I could be that day and sad to be leaving as we made our way back to our hostel and then to our bus.

All in all, these first 2 months narrated happened so fast that I could barely catch my breath between each travel and each encounter. The month of October has been the only real break since I got here in which I settled more into my home, Quito, and engaged with the culture here as I continue to connect with my heritage and it’s place within my identity. However, that also was the hardest month so far in terms of nostalgia and drama that introduced itself onto my life thanks to someone’s jealousy and another’s ploy of forgiveness. I feel I’m still processing and dwelling on these memories but most recently and importantly I’m leaving my inclusion in these problematic relationships behind. I’ve decided to isolate myself from people who don’t deserve my investment in their means of attention and to go back to that place and mission I wanted for myself which was to learn to be and cope alone and to put myself first above other people who take so much away and never give anything back.

It’s safe to say that leaving people sucks and it’s hard and tempestuous but I’ll never get tired of remembering how lucky I am to have people like my best friends at home who support and supplement my life like family does, like love does. Having people that respect and appreciate you as a whole is the clearest reminder that hardships will pass and that I, truthfully, am not alone.

 

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Leaving is always tough, bittersweet, necessary, but painful. Yet, this time around it felt like I was Frida Kahlo and I felt so disconnected with both of the emotions that were splitting me into two, I could hardly recognize myself. I saw others be surprised of this girl who is reinventing herself, yearning for a different life, a different self, an immersive and intensive transformation that surpasses anyone else’s selfish interests, and I stood in awe with them.

I felt like I was watching myself make decisions as if I was a fish in a fish tank and had a checklist of actions and completions ready to be checked and met in preparation for the journey to come.

My last days in Miami were hectic only by choice and not an imposition. I give myself to so many souls and beautiful relationships that I love to nurture, but as the time came near to give me back to myself, it was like the social anxiety I have been feeling intensify this year reversed itself into anxiety against being left alone with myself with nowhere to go, nowhere to hide, nowhere to play some game and pretend to be someone I’m not to be accepted by people I want to believe love me, care for me, but in reality care only about themselves.

At the same time, the time nearing my departure was such a transformational period in itself for myself and for my closest loves that I felt so sheltered to stand up to my own fears and let go of all this confusion and anxiety. I will never know how to transfer the gratitude I have in my heart for having friends like my close gals that push me to be the best version of myself and to continue to figure out who the fuck that is! because it’s okay to not know, it’s okay to get lost and feel like you’ll never get back to yourself, it’s okay to not know what’s next!

My loves, my gals, they’re the seeds of beauty and grace that the universe gifted my soul. Without them life is dull, dark, numb, uncolored, lacking purpose, and lonely. I love them to no end. We grow like middlemist red and jade vine and we support eachother in mutual growth and understanding.

I’ve been planning my life out since I can remember coherently learning to plan for my future. Deconstructing that imposition on my conscience and the way I make decisions has been one of my hardest battles. Accepting that right now is the best I have and that I have the ultimate power to choose how I feel about the world and my life, identity, and own mobility is something beautiful and liberating. I feel like a dove finally grown big enough and strong enough to break away from the chains imposed on me by impediments; selfish beings always on the lookout for control and manipulation over how I feel, what I want to feel, what I do or do not do, and what I AM.

This year I broke my tradition of writing down resolutions because I didn’t end last year or begin this year believing that such were attainable anymore. I had lost all sense of direction and confidence that I had built about how I wanted to live my life. I’ve tried to deconstruct the abusive environment I lived in my whole life since I left that environment, yet failed to realize that in the process of doing so, I had internally replaced the abusive source of pain and become my own aggressor and abuser. It took me half a year, heartbreak, loss of identity, deprecating self-esteem, and full loss of confidence to realize that this is the end of the cycle. I refuse to keep these Centennial long chains caging my feet for any longer.

It took me half a year, heartbreak, loss of identity, deprecating self-esteem, and full loss of confidence to realize that this is the end of the cycle. I refuse to keep these Centennial long chains caging my feet for any longer.

This year is the year of broken chains.

Flying out of Miami and out of the world that harbored my self-deprecation left me feeling free, light, and ready to begin my next transformation.

as the beautiful and brave Banks writes and sings,

Cause I fuck with myself more than anybody else
It’s all love
I used to care what you think about me
It’s all love
Cause my love so good
So I FUCK WITH MYSELF MORE THAN ANYBODY ELSE