I do not live for what the world thinks of me, but for what I think of myself.
-Jack London

While talking to Jeremy, one of my childhood best friends, back in November on his birthday, we got on the subject of lessons we've acknowledged this past year. For him, it was the fact that no matter how good you are to people, your actions won't make them change. They have to change for themselves. That was a hard lesson for him to learn because being the people-pleaser he was raised to be, he grew tired of trying to be there for people who always ended up taking him for granted. As for me, I realized the complications of trying to heal while you're constantly in survival mode can be detrimental to your growth as a person. We came from a place where we had to be on the defensive in everything we did - I wasn't allowed to be feminine, or explore my sexuality as openly as my peers. While they grew up conditioned and thoroughly encouraged to learn about their bodies, their feelings, and their compatibility with others, I was confined within a world of heteronormativity and Christianity that could've taken my life.

I remember having to keep my guard up when any guy showed the slightest interest in me. Was it a ploy to fool me or was he actually revealing bi-curious tendencies? It was never the latter. Because of this, it’s painful for me to recollect any of my firsts - My first kiss, my first boyfriend, my first time, my first love, all tragic.

The only triumph that I wouldn't trade a lifetime for, is my self-worth. I have never known myself better than I do today. I ask myself how did I get here?

I often think of my childhood as stolen. As an only child, I had to grow up very fast to handle the responsibilities of taking care of my mother. I wonder how many 911 recordings there are of little DePaul pleading for an ambulance. Having grown up in this trailer park feels beyond otherworldly to me now. I was able to go back to this place and let the memories lead the way. I wasn't expecting to be terrified. The closer I got to the trailers, the tenser my body became - so much so that my stomach started to fold into itself. Pulling the car over to an abandoned parking lot didn't calm my nerves, everything about this felt wrong. But I knew I'd never come back to this place again and had to document it for my sanity.

What has delayed this journal entry for nearly two years is simply the thought of deciphering exactly what made this place feel so unwelcoming to me now. How could this be when I used to sleep there, I used to play there, I used to hold my mother in my arms and wait for the ambulance to take her away. Walking up to this neighborhood felt like a betrayal, there was nothing victorious about "making it out of here." I'm not sure why, but what comes to mind why it didn't feel as such is because someone else was living there now. I don't know what I expected. I think I was hoping that the trailers would be gone by now - that this lot would be a commercially successful area, or possibly a community playground at least. Seeing that they were still there hurt me, scared me, made me remorseful that another little black boy could be living my same life. I wouldn't wish that upon anybody.

When I got back to Reno, I was very bothered by the contrast of my current life and my past. Coming from a rather poor background and ending up in a graduate school program was surreal at that moment, especially in terms of belonging. That word has made my skin crawl my entire life, what does it mean to belong? From not fitting into where I came from (being poor, Black and gay) but also not completely fitting into where I was then (academia, Black and queer) has been a painful burden that I am reminded of every day. I believe our habitus is formed during our childhood and won't change much while growing up; once you distance yourself from your roots cause you no longer identify with them, redemption will not be found in the social class you're striving to be in either. Are we destined to ultimately stay the same?

This can't be true, but in a sense I believe it is. Even after a year of fleeing to Miami, although I have never felt more belonged in a place, I still have my doubts. I'm not bilingual (yet), I don't know the areas around me (yet), I often still feel like a tourist. My chosen friend group is still a bit flaky with their reciprocation, plus my love life is ever constantly nonexistent. Not saying all of these would vanish had I been a native here, cause most of the people I've met are not from here but they seem to be fitting in a hell of a lot better than me. So what do I have going for me? I try to figure that out day by day. This is trying to heal while in survival mode. Happy birthday to me.

Journal

Twenty8