Who Would I Be?

Searching, I always seem to find myself 

Looking for someone and something to care for

Instead of myself.

***

Sometimes I wonder, who would I be without the backdrop of colonization?

Would I still love advocacy if I weren’t so heavily impacted by the system that has been so intricately created for my downfall?

Who would I be without the white man’s history overshadowing mine? 

One day, I was talking to my friend. I met her during my study abroad program in Barcelona between my sophomore and junior years of college. We tend to connect because of our personal beliefs and socioeconomic status in our respective countries. 

I voiced my concerns with her and pondered who I would be if I didn’t have to work so hard to make ends meet. 

Who was I before the world told me who to be?

It is a hard pill to swallow. That I am solely who I am because of the capitalist, colonized world I found myself in, but I always wonder who I would be if I had the privilege just to be. 

She immediately backed away from the question. She voiced that questions like that make you dream of a different reality, and gratitude finds its way laid to the side.

I told her that questions like that make me hunger for my truth. If I were to freedom dream, who, where, and what would I be? 

Without the constraints of the world, what paths would my feet find themselves comfortable following?

For me, this is liberation. To acknowledge that my desires were sidetracked by colonization. I have been constantly questioning myself because I struggle to navigate a world that was created for me to lose myself in. 

I had the same conversation with my best friend.

I told my best friend that I would probably be an artist in every definition of the word. I would write music, play multiple instruments, and write poetry all day. Do yoga, have a farm, and teach little Black children to love and adore themselves. 

Then I asked myself who was stopping this from being my reality…

My brisk response was cultural. Pleasure isn’t something I was raised to accept. After all, life… life is about suffering and hard work, especially as a black woman. If I am not suffering, then life must not be hard enough. If I am not suffering, then God’s lessons are falling on the wayside.

I guess my definite answer is me. It is the belief that being a writer or creative isn’t sustainable, but what if writing is the only way I feel sustained?

Maybe that is my call to be a little more true to myself through each day.