by MAKINA LYNDIWÉ TABLE
I.
Do you remember how blue the water was and how sweet the mangoes were? Do you remember how nervous you were those first days and how you went any way? I remember telling you that this was for you and not me. That this would make so much more sense in the end.
II.
I went because I found every reason not to. And when I went, you were there waiting for me—only you didn’t look like I’d thought you would. You were bigger, deeper; you blanketed all of my being. I was uncomfortable in the fact that you didn’t match any of my expectations, so I instinctively considered running and retreating to what I knew. But wasn’t the point of it all to venture into the unknown in order to find what had been hidden by familiarity and complacency? So I stayed with you. Learning you meant that I had to (re)learn myself. Learning myself meant being that I would be unable to flee my ugly truths. Here, while battling the African sun and carting water to sustain myself, it is impossible to pretend. Vulnerability is impossible to flee. I resisted you anyway. Eventually, fighting the need to evolve became too painful to bear. It’s funny how being uncomfortable makes being vulnerable look like the only option. So I embraced you. I shouted at you and pushed you away, and embraced you again. A resilient cycle indeed.
III.
I went and expected to find you as I’d see you in my dreams. You had my nose; your eyes were like mine. Our spirits instantly recognized one another. But it wasn’t you. You welcomed me for my similarities just as easily as you wrote me off for my differences. Your hue was the same as mine but you seemed unimpressed by its richness. For so long I’d only thought of your love that your pain was unrecognizable. You were hurting. Searching too. Did you ever dream of me? Was I the same as you had imagined?
IV.
I learned how to trust you. And I realized the vastness of your strength. And mine. There was that day, a traumatic day when we assisted in the maternity ward. I clung to you as she wailed in the troughs of labor. She knew what to do. So did I. But I didn’t trust you enough to believe in what I knew. She needed more time, her body told us all that. But time was not given. Can you forget the shrill of her pain as they jumped on her stomach, not trusting her body, taking time into their own hands? I hid behind you and you told me to stay grounded because I needed to be in that moment. I needed to learn from that space. That feeling. I did not know her, but I wept for her. When I cried for her for months, you consoled me.
You did that often and mostly when I didn’t know I needed it. There were so many moments where it was just you and I and I tried to avoid you with all my might. Because sometimes I discovered new parts of myself and I wasn’t ready to reveal them to you. To me.
V.
The more that I spent searching and finding you here, the more that I realize that you had been with me all along. I traveled forward through time and space to come back to you. Why hadn’t I embraced you then? You were in fact uniquely mine, there’s no doubt about that. You had my mom’s eyes and my dad’s smile. How did I not appreciate your complexity? You went through quite the journey to reach me—indescribable amounts of pain, sacrifice, and tenacity. That’s what molded you. That’s what makes you so damn beautiful. But yet I didn’t know your worth. When I see pictures of you now, there, the hairs on the back of neck stretch to the sky. I’ve shed a thug tear or five while watching you in action. I see myself in your magic and that connection neither time nor space can curtail.
VI.
There is a lot of pain and struggle and all of that has to do with love. You taught me the duality of intimacy. With you, I learned to love.