Things that Make Me
I started wearing black because I heard it hid flab and made people look slimmer.
I never paid attention in algebra class, because my sixth grade maths teacher had a loud voice and at the age of eleven, along with waiting for my Hogwarts letter I had learnt to drown out loud voices that came from my parents bedroom every night.
I love cats because one would sneak in my room every night through the balcony and kill rats and I was afraid of rats.
I am afraid of rats because they infested our house and were ugly and I lived in constant anticipation of them biting me. I am still afraid of them because they remind me of rented houses we lived in and the constant chaos our lives were in.
I am awkward when my mother hugs me because she didn’t do it until I was 15.
I hate kids because I don’t understand motherhood.
I am not afraid of labels because I have seen lack of identity is more damaging.
I am not scared of ghosts because my father said they do not exist and he never lies.
I am fascinated by destruction because my brother read my first diary and in embarrassment I lit it on fire and as the pages turned to ash I realized the only way to destroy is to reduce it to embers.
I love my family because no matter how broken we are, we are broken together.
I love my friends because I have found them after years of disabling shyness and years of eating lunches alone.
I love the internet and the digital footprint I leave because I don’t feel like hiding anymore.
And though I wish my namesake had more lovers and the book I was named after are songs of separation, I realize how tight a slap in the face of destiny it will be, if I fall in love.