Happy Christmas, Happy Hanukkah , Joyous Kwanzaa, and Happy New Year to you all.
(Fun Fact: Today is the third day of Kwanzaa. Those who celebrate today are celebrating Ujima, which is like.. community.)
Anyway, I wanted to do a little self-reflection, seeing as it’s the holiday season and whatnot.
See, there’s this poet. His name is Adam Falkner and he is amazing. But the point is he’s got this poem that’s really great, called My Father’s Family, and in this poem he has this line:
“So we write, about who we are, and why that matters.”
And he goes on to spit more really sick lines, and it’s beautiful, but that one line got me thinking. Who are we, and why do we matter? Obviously I can’t speak for you, but the question has prompted a bit of soul-searching on my part.
So I got to writing, about who I am, and why it matters.
I am multiracial , and proud of it. I’m affectionate to a lot of different people, but I only really love a few. I think too much. I drink too much tea and chew too much ginger. I think women are beautiful and men are too. I have dreams bigger than my head and my head is pretty big in a figurative sense (as well as in a literal sense, especially if you count my hair). I believe in a universal good, and in a universal evil, and I think that a little bit of both exists in each of us. I think it’s a waste of time to be offended or insulted, so I try my best to avoid it. I pull my own hair when I’m scared, or nervous, or upset. I get test anxiety even though I know I always do well, and I get social anxiety although I know people generally like me. I miss my best friend. I lie, a lot. I constantly write letters to the people I care about most, but few of them are ever read. I believe more in myself than I do any sort of Higher Power. I stumble over my words and my own two feet, at lot. I am my father’s daughter, with all of the aggression and intensity and beauty that comes along with that. I am someone who knows exactly how cruel kids can be. And I know exactly how cruel I can be. I am someone who will one day have lines of people, waiting to meet her. I matter because I know that one day I’ll do something fantastic; and people will see me in the streets and want to shake my hand.
Who are you?