beautiful october wasted wishing for november.

on reminiscing.

November is an odd month. Nearly every leaf has departed from bark, meeting the ground below. These trees have no choice but to no stand alone. Some have desperately waited for this exact moment to emerge from the shadows of shades of orange, red, and green and to be known simply for what they are. They hold themselves high. Some grieve their loss of beauty, which only keeps them worthy of admiration. They grow from compliments and adoring stares, but for five months, they are alone with themselves. Who would think they were beautiful now? I am the eldest daughter of my mother, the eldest daughter. My heart was the first to be hunted. My life killed the possibility of my mother ever having her own and the years of cruelty seemed justifiable towards the murderer of her dreams.

The distance from me and my past is scratching at my door, making its presence known. I don’t remember the sound of my childhood doorbell or the colors of my grandmother's wall. I once wished to be this age, and I can’t wait for it to all end. A few days ago, I wore a new scarf to protect me from the chill. My reflection showed my father staring back at me instead. As of recently, I can’t help but recognize the similarities between our faults. I am growing tired of aching bones and clenched teeth. 

The heavily barbed wired road that is college applications has left me cut up. My childish belief of what is fair is coming has left me dead on the side of the road. I’m too afraid to admit that my suffering may have been for nothing. The art made from the remains of my tears was never beautiful, just messy. Too human. I bled so much, and my only wish was to be seen. There’s too much on the line for me to be mediocre. I must be extraordinary. I was born on the brink of death, struggling for oxygen that burdened me weak lungs, and it became my life’s foreshadowing. Unlike my siblings with never-ending limbs, I stopped growing up in elementary school, and requesting gentleness is an unforgiving taunt towards what was never given to me. I must carry the world on my shoulders without a drop of sweat. I must shine through rain and snow. I couldn’t stand asking for help. When they realize that my story is one they cannot pull me out of but one I must carve out for myself, they give up fast. If I said it all, we would look at one another with nothing but our silence, your pity, and my regret.

As of lately, there’s a weird nostalgia for things I hated. I have found a peculiar type of fondness growing within the iciness of my chest. I fear I could love anything if I spent enough time with it. No matter how much it snarls and growls back at me. It stems from knowing this will be the last. Let me take in this cruelty one more then let me forget about it forever. And, what a blessing how I am forgetting. Growing up is realizing what made you clench your heart in fear is what you can sit through without fright wavering anywhere in your bones. My voice has gotten louder, and my tolerance has lowered. I could not help but believe that the universe didn’t expect my body to be around for this long yet; this is the tallest I have been, and the room is getting smaller.

ikran abdi