De Nosotros, Con Amor

To The People I Miss,
Home was the most succulent of
paradoxes. Our mutual silence roamed
throughout the house and deafened my
incoherent thoughts. In a home full of
people, I isolated myself. There was an
inherent distinction between you and
I, a noticeable difference that many
loved to point out. In hindsight, when I
think about our time within the walls of
our duplex, pain wrapped its illustrious
warmth around the silence that created
us; but that summer was different.
Every morning, during summer break,
our days would be spent at Abuelitas.
There was nothing particularly exciting
about our visits. We would arrive, head to
her room while she watched her shows
in the room next to hers, while time
vanished like a shadow in the night. I
remember sedating my mind with video
games and tv shows to evaporate the
pain of existing. In that time between
shows and gaming, I remember peeping
outside the window and seeing the
shadows of trees begin to shift. We had
spent all day inside -- time became
evasive and by the time we realized what
the clock showed us, it was time to leave.
In reflecting on that time, I recall pain
knowing you the most. The way you
always needed to escape from the
confines of home. I remember the color
difference between your shoulder and
your arm-- like pain, the sun knew you
too. The world scared me. The ridicule
at school for my existence being a
burden, indifference created a fear of
unacceptance that was unshakeable —
it seems as though that was a character
trait embedded into our dna. We were
opposing forces existing together.
But I remember that summer under the
avocado tree — it was a time where
I remember we existed outside our
signifiers of othering. Where the pain
drifted away with the cold gust that
swept under the tree and brushed the
sweat on our backs, leaving a cooling
sensation that gave us goosebumps.
Where the tree, with all its might, tried to
shield us from the sun, but the leaves left
too large of gaps to shield us wholly, and
the columed light made its way through
and kissed our skin in warm delight.
That summer was a mental state of
isolation, life became bearable beneath
that tree. The shade offered solace from
the abrasive heat but those pockets of
sunlight kept us tethered to the forces
arounds us, it brought us to reality. The
breeze brushed by our bodies in a wave
of comfort, allowing us to exhale.
I say all of that to say, in a pocket of
remembrance, love persevered. In
a moment of stillness, a memory so
mundane in experience can be profound
in hindsight. Life, then, was unfair,
unkind, and unshakable; Its abrasiveness
was likened to the suns radiating heat,
beating on us unapologetically, it owned
us. Within the umbrella of green leaves
and shadowy valor, in glorious calm
blunder, we existed.
Yours,
in Loving Remembrance
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