They call me "Czekolada."
"Czekolada," means "Chocolate." I don't know how it started, but here i am, at dinner, at the party, in the nursery with my new baby cousin and it's all i can think about.
But i've been known by many names here.
"Przylepa," which means "adhesive," in regards to the lovingly sticky nature of my emotions towards my grandmother. "Pele," in a playground in Bialystok after the infamous Brazilian athlete for most likely being the darkest person those kids had ever seen. And most notably "chocolate," for also being the darkest kid my cousins had ever seen.
But i've been known by many names here.
"Przylepa," which means "adhesive," in regards to the lovingly sticky nature of my emotions towards my grandmother. "Pele," in a playground in Bialystok after the infamous Brazilian athlete for most likely being the darkest person those kids had ever seen. And most notably "chocolate," for also being the darkest kid my cousins had ever seen.
Coming back to Poland after 2 years, i've realized that i've come to an impasse. One where i stand as a woman, after years of cultivating my person and the human being i'd like to continue to build into the world, and my life as a child and a member of my family here in Poland.
As a child i am a follower, lazy, a listener, an outcast, a cousin, an American, an obtuse foreigner that doesn't fit and yet belongs no where else except in this family. As a woman i have ambitions, goals, opinions. I want to strive, to become independent of their collective opinion of me, because i've learned so thoroughly now that people will have something to say about you no matter what you do. People will like you, people will hate you but i believe, perhaps naively so, that my family will love me no matter who i become.
Having an opinion about another human being is so very natural to who we are as people. I've learned that if you have an opinion, bad or good, and you don't hold the action of being malicious to another soul, then we can coexist. And yet, here i stand, in between my adolescent soul and my terrifying future and i can't move an inch, hell bent on changing everything without a single move.
They call me "Czekolada" here and it bothers me because here i am, standing in this quicksand of my own creation. Every grain made from my regrets, from those moments where i didn't stand my ground, where i was fearful and shameful of the person i've become in the world.
They call me "Czekolada" and i won't say a word even though this guy is yelling in my ears, asking me to say something in English and i'm just a toy, pull my string and you'll get a story, push the button on my paw and i'll give you those words, two squeezes and you get a sentence and the words to your favorite song.
They call me "Czekolada," because we're at the dinner table and we need to talk about shitty Mexicans that leave their kids, scary Russians at the door, suspicious Turks, angry black folks, exotic mutts and mulatto's.
They call me "Czekolada" because here i sit in silence, but there i said my peace and i'm overemotional, too sensitive, something to smile about, aristocratic in my $10 denim and my cut-up T-shirts.
They call me "Czekolada" because i'll never be able to lower my pigments or dye my hair or scratch out this tattoo or take out this nose ring that everyone keeps talking about or love the stuff i love any less than i do because i'll always get excited about book sales and backpacks, i'll always peel my scars and wear skirts that are a little bit too short and heels that are a little bit too high.
I will always think about these hands and the veins that run through them. I'll always be irrationally scared of falling asleep, only to be surprised to wake up every morning in absolute delirium.
I'll always eat too much ice cream and forget to comb my hair.
I'll always be insecure and yet entirely in love with all the mind-blowing elements that have come together to make up this incessantly beautiful existence.
These little insignificant but essential things will always make up my being.
They call me "Czekolada" because i don't even know but i can't let it phase me. I can't because if i do, here i will be, incredibly, uncontrollably, hopelessly stuck in the in between.
As a child i am a follower, lazy, a listener, an outcast, a cousin, an American, an obtuse foreigner that doesn't fit and yet belongs no where else except in this family. As a woman i have ambitions, goals, opinions. I want to strive, to become independent of their collective opinion of me, because i've learned so thoroughly now that people will have something to say about you no matter what you do. People will like you, people will hate you but i believe, perhaps naively so, that my family will love me no matter who i become.
Having an opinion about another human being is so very natural to who we are as people. I've learned that if you have an opinion, bad or good, and you don't hold the action of being malicious to another soul, then we can coexist. And yet, here i stand, in between my adolescent soul and my terrifying future and i can't move an inch, hell bent on changing everything without a single move.
They call me "Czekolada" here and it bothers me because here i am, standing in this quicksand of my own creation. Every grain made from my regrets, from those moments where i didn't stand my ground, where i was fearful and shameful of the person i've become in the world.
They call me "Czekolada" and i won't say a word even though this guy is yelling in my ears, asking me to say something in English and i'm just a toy, pull my string and you'll get a story, push the button on my paw and i'll give you those words, two squeezes and you get a sentence and the words to your favorite song.
They call me "Czekolada," because we're at the dinner table and we need to talk about shitty Mexicans that leave their kids, scary Russians at the door, suspicious Turks, angry black folks, exotic mutts and mulatto's.
They call me "Czekolada" because here i sit in silence, but there i said my peace and i'm overemotional, too sensitive, something to smile about, aristocratic in my $10 denim and my cut-up T-shirts.
They call me "Czekolada" because i'll never be able to lower my pigments or dye my hair or scratch out this tattoo or take out this nose ring that everyone keeps talking about or love the stuff i love any less than i do because i'll always get excited about book sales and backpacks, i'll always peel my scars and wear skirts that are a little bit too short and heels that are a little bit too high.
I will always think about these hands and the veins that run through them. I'll always be irrationally scared of falling asleep, only to be surprised to wake up every morning in absolute delirium.
I'll always eat too much ice cream and forget to comb my hair.
I'll always be insecure and yet entirely in love with all the mind-blowing elements that have come together to make up this incessantly beautiful existence.
These little insignificant but essential things will always make up my being.
They call me "Czekolada" because i don't even know but i can't let it phase me. I can't because if i do, here i will be, incredibly, uncontrollably, hopelessly stuck in the in between.