I am from an illusion. From humble ancestoral roots and wounded souls. From generational trauma, from privilege and wealth. Deceiving to the outside eye; that cannot discern the crumbling inside.
I am from pretense and paradox. Contradictions and polarity. Explosive personalities and stubborn will.
I am from the concrete jungle and constant noise. Sirens blare; oxygen is sucked from the air.
Born to parents who wed out of obligation and never love.
I am from a 3 story, brick home. Earth tones, orange walls. A crackling woodburning fire; the swirling gray smoke billows out of our home. An oak tree in my backyard that we would climb en lieu of a garage. I am from parallel parking and Chicago Public Schools.
Constant shouting. Chaos ensued. I am from the early learned role of mediator. Of peacemaker. Trying to placate; to no avail. I am from trying to calm the constant storms, dangerously swirling around.
Easy-going, sweet, content in nature. Smiling and happy to the outside eye.
I am from being invisible. From making myself small. And then smaller. And smaller still. Unseen. Unheard. Endless pressure to meet the status quo. Never accepted or understood for being exactly who I am.
I am from an oxymoron. From opposing perspectives and preferences at every turn. I am from living in the gray; never understanding the rigidity of black or white.
I am from neighborhood tag, a diverse group of friendships, robust extracurriculars. From here and from there.
I am glowing. Grass-stained soccer socks, worn in shin guards, muddy cleats, concussions and frequent ER trips. I am from traveling teams, domestic and abroad, from a champion varsity high school team. I found my healthy space to exist; until safety was stripped.
Transgressions abroad from those I should have been able to trust most. Repressed memories, blurry beginnings. Life changed. Safety gone.
I am from a PTA mom and soccer coach dad. I am from IQ, but not EQ. From strong work ethic and stronger wills. From stubbornness and fragile egos.
I am from advanced educations and constant chaos. I am from a facade.
I am from a lineage of rising oneself from bootstraps and inhumane persecution. From beautiful resilience and self-determination.
I am from menorahs and Christmas trees and competitive annual Eastern egg hunts. From Passover and matzah ball soup. I am misunderstood.
I am from record players, floppy discs, and desktops. From pagers and flip phones. Fron bunny ears over the one television set. From 5 TV channels.
I hide. Constantly hiding. Hide under the desk while SimCity is played. When I feel brave enough to venture from under the desk, I sit in the tiny windowsill seat, looking out at the passing cars in the residential street.
Waiting. Always waiting. Waiting for love that never comes unconditionally.
I am from road trips and adventures, passports, and paper maps. I am from cassettes playing Johnny Clegg, singing along in the backseat of the car. Cardboard bingo card in hand, looking for animals and barns outside the quickly passing landscape of the highway.
Always searching for my true north.
I am from overnight camp and numerous au pairs. I am from what many perceive as the American dream.
I am from an illusion. Glass walls. Strong guards.
I am from being lost. Of having no voice. A facade. The facade crumbles, but nobody can see it but me.
I am from fire and earth. I am from the ashes and a slow rebirth.
