I was dreaming. In this dream I was writing. I was documenting the glasses I wore in fourth grade. I still have them. Those ugly eighties welfare glasses. The ones from the lot we could afford. They were big, I mean huge, and mauve and ugly. When I see hipsters wearing them now I kinda want to take them off of their face and give them a lecture about appropriating poverty. And to prove my point I drop them to the floor and smash them with my feet. But I don’t because I am not mean like that.
Maybe I had that dream because Michael Jackson died and he was totally in my heart all those years that I wore those ugly glasses. In my dream I was wearing them to document me wearing them. The dream ended before I even started writing. I am writing now.
I couldn’t stand living those years of my life. 9, 10, 11, 12. Yuck. Those were the worst years. My hair was frizzy, I was fat and my view of the world and myself were through those ugly glasses. In my twenties when I had those moments that I didn’t feel good about myself I thought I was back at those ages 9,10,11,12. Ugly, depressed, trying to fit in, weird.
I wonder why I had that dream.
I performed last weekend with Mangos with Chili. The dressing room in the back was surrounded by mirrors. When I saw myself, I smiled. I focused in. Checked out my clear skin, my beautiful curls, the way my outfit looked at me. I smiled. I smiled big and said out loud, It’s a good thing I don’t have a mirror like this in my apt or else I would never leave the place. If you had just met me you would have thought that I was vain. My sweetest friend laughed and acknowledged that I have just fully come to myself and that it is great to see me love myself in that way.
I remember now. I remember what I was going to write in my dream. I was going to write about being different. About remembering that we have our own life path. I remember.
In my world I am different and I surround myself with other people that are different. We are the odd balls, the black sheep, the late bloomers. We remind each other of our gifts to ourselves, each other and the world. In my journey to be my whole self and to fulfill my life purpose it is necessary that my closest companions are those who accept all the idiosyncricities I have. My people are the ones who love me, check me, never seize to adore me, teach me and learn from me.
I recently started liking someone that I could be my whole self with. I had never gone into something with such an open heart. With such honesty. Another Cuban Muslim- I know! Very rare. But a special kind of Cuban Muslim, one who is progressive, who reads me poetry over the phone before going to sleep, one who I could talk about being a non practicing queer with and not feel like I won’t be accepted or understood. I love listening to him talk that Cuban Spanish. A long time ago I had given up wanting to be with another Cuban. My roommate kept mentioning that she has never seen me like this and she has known me for over 13 years. And it’s true. Before him I was at a point where I wasn’t trying to hold on to anything romantically left with the last man I was with. I felt full, I was working on so many projects that made me radiate, I felt alive. I was content with being single. Then he came along and I totally accepted that I was in a good place so this was a good thing. But that wasn’t necessarily true. It is not the right time for him and I totally understand. It’s annoying because now I have to grieve a little and get back to the content place I was in. I am trying. Now I am in a place of trying to be compassionate towards him and myself, to leave my heart open and to move on. I did have that moment though of feeling like I was in my twenties feeling like I was 9,10,11,12 again. I felt that I would be alone for the rest of my life and there would be no one in this world that would accept all my complexities from having tattoos, to being religious, from being independent, to enjoying serving. There’s more but I still haven’t eaten breakfast yet. That lasted like 10 minutes. Me crying and feeling sorry for myself and then I remembered all those times I told my friends that we have our own path.
These past two days everything I wanted to do did not work out. I kept on saying God knows best. There was peace within me even though I wanted to be frustrated and pout but I felt like it didn’t work out because there was something there that wouldn’t benefit me. So, I am moving forward with being at peace. OK I am trying to be at peace with the place I am in right now and knowing that this is all part of the plan. I get tested a lot. That’s probably why I liked the stories of Job so much. I am constantly reminding myself of his perseverance.
In this moment of writing from dreams and memories I smile because when I feel my heart beat I notice that it does it freely. It has not closed. I am on my path. May you be on yours. May it be lit.