Who Am I

I am not a box, you can’t put a label on me. I am so much more than meets the eye. I have skin and hair, freckles and scars, fat around my middle and muscle on my thighs. I am strong. I am a woman. I am a daughter and a sister, a mentor and a friend. I listen and I hear, and in return I give advice. I am wise and yet I have so much I can learn.

I am a photographer, and a singer. I can draw and I doodle. Crafty, and creative, I use my mathematically inclined brain to make geometrically sound art. I am a reader, and a writer. Words make me feel, I use words to make others feel.

You can’t call me anything but Adela. I am only, and will only ever be me. I am strong and beautiful. I am smart and crazy, and I love. I cry. I sing. I’m happy. I’m sad. I feel. I express things because sometimes I can’t control my emotions, and more often than not I don’t want to. I want to live and learn and understand and experience all life has to offer. Although I know I never will, I am at peace with that fact and knowing that I will try my damnedest to do as much as possible.

I am daring and caring and a risk taker. I procrastinate because I know that I perform well under pressure. I tease people, I make fun of myself.

I understand that we are all human and that nobody really understands what this life is. No one has all of the answers but that’s what makes life so great, figuring it out. I have issues, I feel depression. There are times when I think of suicide, many times. I’ve learned that I love too hard to take myself out of this world and away from those who love me in return. Mental illness is a sickness, like cancer, sometimes you die but sometimes you live. This plagues me at times, but I am stubborn and refuse to be medicated for it, so instead I write.

I am part of a family, a clan, a posse. I have a tribe. I have people, I have a munchkin and a wifey, and a Momma and these are all people who’ve chosen to love me as much as I love them. I am so much more than my appearance; my boobs, butt, hair, profile, eyes, smile, and teeth, are the things that make up my physical, but they don’t make me, me. I’m not just boobs, I have them. Hearing that “you’re a boob guy,” doesn’t make me want to sleep with you. It makes me want to never see you again while at the same time hoping that you end up in a ditch on the side of a road by the hand of someone who really cares about me. I am a bit of a psycho.

What is on my insides is what makes Adela. How I think, how I cry at cartoon movies, and how that one scene in the Hunger Games always gives me goose bumps, are all what I am. It is the chemical make-up of my brain that allows me to function. I am a brunette with ginger hairs and chocolate brown eyes that have streaks of gold in them. I am the sister of a ginger, and will forever be jealous of her genetic make-up, but at the same time I know that she will give me the most beautiful nieces and nephews, if only she gets around to it sometime soon. I know that she is mine. I am a seester, if only by half. I am not a mother or an aunt but I will be one of those, and I can’t wait to meet the little bugger that claims my heart. I love hard and selectively but at the same time everyone gets the same chance at my heart.

I am me. I am bumped and bruised and scarred and scraped and miss-colored and miss-shaped and stretch-mark ridden from growing too fast and from carrying fat, but I love it. I love everything this vessel has given to me. I appreciate that I can still see the world via my own two feet.

I am skeptical, and trusting. I am a lover of everything. I am not explicitly available to anyone at any time for any reason. I choose who I want, when I want, and what I want out of them not use, but to mutually benefit one another.

I am animal lover and a fighter and a crier and a hopeful and a warrior, I do all things. I feel fear but I embrace it, I let it be. I don’t let it be me. I am a Feminist and I fight for what is right, not what is fair, because there is no such thing.

I believe in the healing power of a hug. That puppy kisses can mend a broken heart.

The louder you cheer the more people will hear you, it is a fact, there are more sound waves traveling at a higher speed reaching farther than someone who is quiet. I am loud, I make sounds. I am off key and quick-witted. I crack inappropriate jokes and most of them are terrible, but I make myself laugh and that is all that matters so I will continue to make these jokes because I love to laugh. I like to feel my organs in my throat and the pain of not being able to catch my breath. Gasping for air I am connected to those around me who are turning every shade from violet to fuchsia and tears are slipping from the corners of our eyes. Tears of happiness are healing tears. They are chemically different than those of sadness, and yet they do the same job to express the feelings that our words cannot. I love the taste of tears. I cry on command and only because I am constantly on the verge of tears. I choose not to be negative when I have the ability to be.