She often liked to remind me, that as a baby, right before she had to go to school one morning, I pooped on her uniform. It’s very much a metaphor for how she’d deal with my shit the rest of her life.
I bought a condo in the middle of a pandemic.
I didn’t think I’d be uttering those words in 2021, but somehow, three months into the new year, this is what’s happened.
Lately I’ve been reminded of the Japanese art of Kintsugi: putting broken pieces back together with gold. It’s a metaphor that reminds us to embrace the flaws and imperfections – that in those cracks you can find something new. But lately, as I think about it, it’s reassuring to think our hearts can do that, too.
While reading Anxious People by Fredrik Backman, I couldn’t help but be reminded of the humanity that exists in all of us. Of the shared happiness and fears and anxiety and joys that come with connection.
I didn’t expect that in five days my family’s world would be completely shaken. That we would have to navigate grief in a pandemic, where the air already feels so saturated with a similar sadness.
From running to the ER from my apartment one morning where I couldn’t stop crying to the nurses on duty; to waking up at 2 am in the Dominican where I crawled into my parents’ hotel room so I could feel some comfort as I curled up against my mother; to crying many nights to whichever of my Facebook friends or cousins was online in the dead of night, I have faced my fair share of paralyzing fear. Some nights I wake up thinking I can’t breathe. And most nights I can’t help but ask: why now and why me?