Hermit Evolution

I love people
I love their smiles, their laughs
Their differences create bright lights and new flavors in life

People are exhausting
Every dive into a conversation is an exercise in decreasing stamina
Tolerance is not built
I tried for decades now

Texting is a Godsend
Letters and emails preferred
I can talk to you when I want?!
Ignore you if I don’t??
Ecstacy

Working from home now
My car was totaled
And I live hours from everyone

Peace,
I found it

A Letter to The Ones Who Came Before

Dear ancestors,

I do not know your names. Your history is lost to me. An entire generation of forced silence beget a generation of grieving ignorance that beget generations of familial orphans. We are lost to each other. You will never know my smile, I will never know your laugh. Did you enjoy mangos as I do? Were any of you allergic to seafood or is that something I just developed?

Perhaps I exaggerate. My frustrations are exacerbated by the unknown. I see in my mother’s face an aunt, an uncle, a grandfather that I will never know. I feel in her love a strength and resilience passed from mother to daughter since before the time of slaves or conquistadors. My father’s chuckle, or the chainsaw snoring are ingrained lullabies from ancient times. The love of food and cooking and family gatherings near the kitchen are buried in DNA blessed by God or evolved after millennia.

Dear ancestors, my dear beloved ancestors. Our spirits travel dimensions to find one another, drifting in a sea of time and other lost ones searching for ties to a mysterious past. An unreachable past. At times the loss of you weighs me down until I feel I will never rise again. I cry hardest those days. Every now and then I walk a trail and feel you next to me. I am at peace especially in those times.

I think of how you would see me: a heathen, a fool, a sinner with no hope of salvation. I love you most in your judgement because it means you have dreams and hopes for me, even if I will never measure to them. I love you where you are because we come from different times and our values and morals in many ways would be completely different. I know best that at least one or two of you would want me happy and healthy, so you would never care about how I live my life as long as I am living it. I am my most carefree those days.

I dream of the wisdom you would have shared, the stories and lessons. The jokes and laughter we would share, common phrases and mottos you would pass on to me. Family names that would tether me to you in a way that is perhaps more superficial than blood, but considering my family name links me with millions of strangers all over the world? Maybe I want something more specific. Maybe I want something longer. Gift me with 5 names or 14. I am not picky, as long as I get to say I am yours and you were mine.

I wish for community. Someone to say I am just like this aunt or that cousin in temperament or vision. My parents and their siblings, their aunts and uncles, have fuzzy memories, and their generation lost as much as mine if for nothing else than the silence that was forced on them. Do they see their grandparents in me? Great-great uncles or aunts? Did we have a crazy cousin Ed or Tito?

Dear ancestors, I weep for losing you. I sob for the memories I will never gain in knowing of you. My soul home is built on sand, perhaps firm with myself and my mother and father, but the rest slips through my fingers without a care of my need for a firm foundation. One I know you would have wanted for me.

More than anything, I smile and cheer because I am here and regardless of the tether I do not have to you, regardless of how I drift through the stars of the universe, I am here. To the ones who came before me, I am the one who thrives after you.

Love,
Eris

Where Am I? An Ongoing Conversation on Representation

There is nothing more impossible, even now in 2018, than asking to see myself on the television screen. As an asexual woman loving Afro-Caribbean Latinx woman, the chances of me seeing myself for a accumulation of those pieces in one person alone on a television series or in film is like asking for the sun, moon, and stars as well as a billion dollars. It’s totally possible! The probability of it is definitely there, but I shouldn’t hold my breath either. So I break those pieces down, and find comfort in characters that sort of resemble who I am. I look for Afro-Latinx, Black, or brown characters, regardless of gender or sexual orientation. I look for queer folks, regardless of racial/ethnic identity or gender identity. I find empowerment with any characters who could be genderqueer or androgynous because I can identify with them as well as female identified people. I cast a broad net and find a bit of myself with everyone because it’s the only way I’ll be able to see something of myself on screen. It’s been that way my whole life.

Continue reading “Where Am I? An Ongoing Conversation on Representation”

A Scene Between Original Characters

Imaginary friends are the OG original characters before fan fiction ever became a thing after the internet blew up. The following is a scene in my mind if I ever had the chance to introduce my two favorite imaginary friends together (this is definitely still a work in progress):
***
Wary eyes glared at each other from across the room. Ice blue locked on dark brown, both filled with judgement and more than a hint of dislike. It wasn’t about who came first, but about who did the most for their creator. Who held her when she cried as a child versus who destroyed her enemies now when the world became too much. Protectors, they both were, but friends. Did they know friendship outside what was designed in them? Love? Could they understand the dichotomy they represented in the mind of someone who once saw herself as righteous compared to the realist, the grey, the demon who wasn’t really a demon as much as a djinn with too much fire, too much power, and not enough morality to care what she did with it. Both pairs of eyes rolled. She was thinking too much again, they said without words. They didn’t need words. Just smug smirks of understanding. Of acknowledgement. No, they’d not ever be friends. They both thought they knew best, wanted to be the sole protectors and providers. Their creator apologizes, has apologized, for that glitch in their matrix. She hadn’t wanted them to become as she was: a servant, a server, a provider. But broad shoulders shrugged off her useless sentiments, not in anger but acceptance. They were who they were and happy with their places in life. One, a dark knight, a paladin, with a righteous fury that slashed at her creator’s enemies with a broadsword and held evil at bay. Another, the djinn, a creature of fire and nature, a destructive force that brushed off what was considered right or wrong and thought only of what was wanted, who catered to her creator’s every whim because why the fuck not? Continue reading “A Scene Between Original Characters”

Saying No For The Right Reasons

luna and polar sitting on a deck

If there is one thing people notice fairly quickly while getting to know me, my mom is an important part of my life. She is the head of my tiny immediate family, and will soon be a very important matriarch in my extended family (technically, she already is but that’s another tale). Family drilled its importance into my head from a very early age, usually to my own detriment although I know that wasn’t the intention. But good intentions sometimes lead to bad decisions, and I freely admit I made bad decisions thinking about how it would help my family without thinking about how it would hurt me.

2017 has been and continues to be a crazy year globally, nationally, and locally. In my own personal life, it has been a year of learning and growth. After two weeks of practicing the art of saying no, the audience being my own self-control and impulse to buy the newest fountain pen or shimmering ink to match said pen, I am increasing my goal of saying no and putting a goal and purpose to it.

Continue reading “Saying No For The Right Reasons”

Hopeless

I can’t think with the voices in my head

The voices sound like they want me dead

I can’t act with this fear in my bones

This freezing terror won’t leave me alone

I can’t love with hate in my heart

I’m trying to forgive but I’ve had a rough start

I can’t really seem to do anything at all

Nothing to uplift when all I’ve done is fall

Airplane Mode

Just a little something while I was flying to Tampa yesterday:

Airplane

I’m in a fucking can in the sky. I am gliding to my death. I’m touching clouds, staring down below at the world so small, I feel like a damn giant.

I love to fly. I love seeing all that God created from a height only They can reach and I can never aspire to.

I’m afraid of heights. I’m small and I was made of the earth and my feet should never leave the ground.

Continue reading “Airplane Mode”

My Path to Me

I haven’t been good about posting anything, and one of my favorite ways to get back into the writing habit is to begin with a story. This time I have decided that the story would be a personal one, my coming out story. Normally, because of the multitude of times that a person comes out, it’s customary to pick one of significance to your identity. I have been figuring myself out for many years, however, so this is kind of my ultimate coming out story. Or better said, this is my coming out journey. Fair warning, it’s very long and very much a work in progress. Here we go:

I have been having problems. Problems in that I’m done hating myself. I’m done trying to bend without breaking. I am done with trying to make my mother happy. But part of making my mother happy is also in line with what I grew up with, what my beliefs are, what my thoughts are. So I’m basically going against everything that has essentially made me who I am for over twenty years of my life.

I cannot remember a time when I was not fascinated with
women. Even with the Bible teachings and my family reinforcing them, I was sure
God, my creator, was a woman. Too perfect for the He, the Father role, the male
neutral. Because my mother was my world, and in my eyes God’s very
representative on this Earth sent to show me the path I needed to be on. Women
were the backbone of my family, the feeders and caretakers. All my teachers up
to fifth grade had been mainly women. My favorite shows had women leads and
strong relationships with other women. It seemed the most normal thing in the
world, then, to believe that the crushes I had on other girls, on my role
models, on my favorite actresses were just an everyday thing. Until they
weren’t. Continue reading “My Path to Me”