sunflowers and strawberries

Every February, I split into little pieces. It is a special month for me and yet every year I feel like something is missing. I’m aware of something existing and maybe even happening, but I can’t see it. I know it is there but when I can’t see it, it makes me feel detached.

I am worried that a little piece of me fell off somewhere and I can’t figure out where it went or even where it came from. This makes me question what is the glue that keeps me together. I am doing everything I can think of to keep myself together and yet wonder how I can still feel so discombobulated.

I have read so many self help books I could write one myself. I have found the ways in which to nourish my body, move my limbs, express myself in love and creativity, build community, love myself, have fun, and understand and heal from my past, but without skipping a beat, every year, this is the month I let out my little existential cry and beg the universe to explain to me, “Why?“

It could be because this month has so much to do with my identity. I am Black, I am a Pisces, and Valentine’s Day is a part of my personal creation story. It could be that I don’t want any of these identities and my soul just wants to be seen as it is, without all the extra bullshit. This is the month I challenge capitalism, politics, war, and occupation. This is the month I challenge beliefs on identity, religion, and sexuality. This is the time I challenge our connections to communities, the Earth, and this Universe. This is the month that I look at all of the pieces of me and try make sense of how they all piece together.

Sometimes I like to pretend it’s just because in February I’m cold. I blame the cold air for making me lust after tropical regions and envious of those acquaintances who have placed their lives in spaces where the sun doesn’t lose it’s warmth. My melanin craves to be kissed by warm air, my water sign craves the sea, and my big ol’ sappy heart craves constant poetry. I feel a dilemma though. I can’t help but feel it is selfish to be so entitled to move, yet capitalism and careers tell us it is the thing to do. Gratitude has taught me never to complain but I wonder if there is anything wrong with craving what I crave. Going after what we want in life seems like a dream but it also, sometimes, is us just playing into our game of Monopoly. Moving away when we cant resonate. Taking up space until Natives have none. Thinking a shitty life will change once the seasons are all one.

I have already done it once, and so I resonate with the masses. I had to escape my home too because the people were so aggressive. It is only since I have become an adult that I see that I did have the capacity to change my environment in the place I called home. It was just easier to run away from the problems than it was to face them on my own.

February also brings up heartbreak. Love for the sake of a day charms me the same way running into an abusive ex the day after Valentine’s Day charms me. My mother met my father on Valentine’s Day at an Illinois Walmart cash register in 1996. My father approached my mother’s register with nothing but a psychedelic Jimi Hendrix t-shirt and apparently some charm. 4 years later to the day they were married in a small church by my pastor of a grandfather with an almost 3 year old 'me' as their flower girl.

Their love story made me feel like I had a very special connection to this holiday and that my parents shared the rarest love in the world. It felt good to believe in something so romantic. Sometimes I miss the feeling of being so naïve, because the way I have had to change my perspective of love because of my parents and this holiday has been a little heartbreaking.

Witnessing two people so in love, but also so deeply traumatized was confusing as a child. I didn’t know if love looked like a hug and a kiss or if loved looked like a closed fist. Once I was aware of the pain that was apart in my parents’ love, I couldn’t look at the holiday the same. That and the capitalistic agenda of the holiday was enough for me to boycott Valentine’s Day as best as I could, and to ensure that every February I was challenging beliefs around love.

I’ve also considered that this month makes me all deep because I am Black. Being mixed and learning how to live multi-culturally will inspire anyone to deepen their understanding of the constructs of white supremacy and racism, especially during the month "dedicated" to African American history within the USA. Racial identity politics in this country piss me off and have been such a pain point in my life.

I feel like I have to call out racism, I feel like I have to do anti racist work, I feel like I have to constantly go against pop culture, I feel like I have to defend the names of people who have done so much work, I feel like I have to be compassionate to those figuring it out, I feel like I have to call out those who aren’t doing enough, I feel mean and rude, I feel awkward and insecure, I feel re-traumatized every time I learn a bit of history, I feel re-traumatized every time I turn on the news, I feel like this world can be so evil, I feel like some folks are more kind than I can ever be, I feel weak, I feel judgmental, I feel tired of doing work and not really seeing the progress, I feel bombarded with questions that I have had to find answers to all by myself, I feel rage, I feel like I can never do enough, I feel like giving up, I feel like locking my hair, I feel like cutting it off, I feel like not caring about white foolery, I feel like just taking a bath, I feel like just taking a nap, I feel like if I don’t do the work then shit only will get worse, I feel like my ancestors are already proud, I feel like my grandmother was strong enough, I feel black af, I feel not black enough…

My identity is so wrapped up in race, culture, and skin color that it truly limits me but I think that in order for us to move past these limiting beliefs we have to work the system from within the system. Maybe we have to play the damn game a little bit if we want to see any progress for the people. It feels like a self sacrificing responsibility.

When all else fails, I can place my yearly existential crisis on the fact that February is the cusp between Aquarius and Pisces. Aquarius is known for asking, “WTF?” and Pisces is known for crying about it. As much as I feel like I have to pretend to know very little about astrology so that the witch hunters don’t find and burn me, I actually love that we can use mathematics and astronomy to create another resource for understanding what is going on here. Being a Pisces just enhances my desire to ask why and have a good existential cry.

With all of that being said, I am very capable of loving life, being inspired, creating beauty, and making change. It’s just that this month speaks so much to what I find so painful about this life. I think it’s okay to wonder why, and to be tired of having to work so hard just to survive. I think it is okay to be angry, frustrated, depressed, confused, and disappointed.

Sometimes the best thing that I can do to comfort myself is daily doing the things that make me stronger and more knowledgeable to assure myself that I am equipped with the strength and knowledge to handle whatever comes from living in this crazy, beautiful world. Finding joy, happiness, love, gratitude, and peace are a slap to the face of whatever evil exists in this world, and so I really try to keep those at the forefront of my heart. It isn’t always easy but sometimes it is necessary for us to remember that this world ain’t all sunflowers and strawberries.

Remembering the pain of this world is important because it gives us purpose. That pain shows us how we can be more loving and take better care of our communities. Looking at how destructive our societies are is important because it will inspire us to make changes. If our ultimate goal is to be at peace or to be in a reciprocal relationship with our planet, then we have to have the strength to look at all of the mistakes and heartbreak that we are currently living with. If we don’t, then we are looking for happy, blissful ignorance, and I think that ignorance will kill us slowly and painfully. Being aware won’t always be fun, but that is what responsibility is, and I am grateful that I have been gifted this responsibility of awareness despite how fucking painful it is sometimes.

My strength has come through tears and years of practice and writing just to figure it all out. I am hoping that if I keep moving my fingers, my ancestors will eventually speak through me, and help me to understand. That is all I really write for.