If my pen could talk

If my pen could talk you would know more than I want you to. You would know that the day my grandfather died was the day I lost my superhero, the day I lost my superhero was the day I stopped believing in magic, and that day I lost my childhood. There was no superhero to save me, no magic to imagine, and no childhood to resemble happiness.

 

If my pen could talk you would know I was only seven when this all began.

 

If my pen could talk you would know that home was not a home to me. I was bullied. Growing up in a Dominican household I was raised to believe in religion and that men were superior. When my ideologies and visions did not match theirs I was wrong and belittled because of it. Taunts such as, “You’re adopted,” “You’re fat,” “You’re ugly,” made home feel foreign. My mom was oblivious and my dad was never there to witness it, but it did happen. I questioned my value in life and tried to run away.

 

If my pen could talk it will tell you that I did run away. To school. School was a place where I found people who believed in me. School was a place where I excelled. It was place where I was at ease to be myself. School taught me what writing was and it was there that I found my permanent home. My notebook and pen. And Oh how I wrote. My life reflected through the pained words. It was the first time I realized that I was heard, that I mattered.

 

If my pen could talk you would know that the start of high school was my reinvention period. I was tired of being separate people in school and home. I wanted to be myself in both places. School allowed me to grow and become confident with who I was and able to stand up for myself. I decided to forgive without any apologies. Sometimes, my family says that they appreciate me because I am strong willed; a compliment I will cherish forever. Finally my family recognized me for who I was and that is when I began to speak about what I had been through. I realized that I am a warrior. I am a writer. I am worthy.

 

If my pen could talk you would know that I was pushed down so many times and brought myself right back up. Today I know my value and no one could take that away from me. There would be no one to oppress me and my ideologies. There would be no one to talk to me in a disrespectful manner because I respect myself too much. I will not be belittled. Not anymore.

 

I am a Dominican American defined by independence and determination.

If my pen could talk you would know that it is hard to believe and love yourself when your own family does not. Even today, I am excellent in school. I have not heard an “I am proud of you,” from my parents but today I do not need it. I no longer need people to approve what I do because my approval is enough. I am appreciative of the conflicts I went through. It has taught me to be accepting. Today I accept other ideologies, their culture, and the way they act. I accept the differences of the world. I accept that a house will never be a home.

 

If my pen could talk you would know that today I know where home is. I know that as long as I write, I will be home.

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