The Things I Carry (written 2017)

I carry papers, pens, and erasers. I carry blank sheets of paper and I carry papers filled. Words crossed, highlighted and bolded communicate mental preoccupations.

I carry the weight of my limitations, the things that remind me what I can and cannot do. I carry the weight of knowledge of things, things I should not know and should not tell. I carry the weight of memory. Memory of ancestors murdered in the name of intimidation, slaughtered for deviant imaginations, assassinated for having ‘special’ inclinations, executed for ‘flashing’ political affiliations. Our blood as damning an incrimination as our skin.

I do not carry the weight of the boundaries and thresholds determined for my brothers and sisters of color and culture; I carry instead my privilege and detachment from them. I carry the weight of my actions, how they affect the way I am treated and perceived as a woman, a Catholic, a hispanic, a child of two immigrants, a white person in America.

I carry my phone, my calculator, my books and my textbooks. I carry the morals, ideals, and ethics that surrounded me as a youth. I carry the PTSD of my father, the pride of my mother, the determination of my brother, the superiority of my sister. I carry the weight of judgements, perceptions, suppositions of those who do not know me.

Everyday I face adversity, I face people who do not believe I am great, who do not believe in my capacity to do great things – who do not see me for who I am.

Despite the weight on my shoulders, I carry on.