Journal

The Other B Word

Coraje.

My brain is like an onion with 4 billion layers,I swear. For every thing that ever becomes a thought in my head, I go through an entire process of thought that could last months maybe even years depending on the sort of impact it's had on me. I guess, you could say, I am a reflection junkie. I haven't written anything in seven weeks for this reason. For once, it's not my laziness, or Logo ™ having a Roseanne marathon. I grew up with parents who like(d) to prosecute my flaws until they are corrected. What they considered 'flaws' throughout the years is subjective but one thing they did know for sure is that I never understood my coraje and I always used it, subconsciously, for 'bad things', until now. While ailing my mother 7 weeks ago she told me a story from two decades ago, when I was pulled from my fourth pre k, for fighting. The last straw was when I decided to engage in playground politics and end the social isolation of this little boy that was my snack trading partner/hand holding buddy. (He might've also been the first white boy I dated.) Some little girl pushed him off the seesaw, I got pissed and toppled her. They separated us in which they isolated me from the playground for the remaining time. I cried, a lot, for a very long time, to the point where Zoila was called to come scoop up her screaming curly haired kid, immediately. Zoila questioned me about it once we got home and I replied with 'no one did anything, so I had too', I was four. She responded with the 'tell an adult' speech and then I responded 'why? If I could take care of it myself?', I was four. She asked why I made a scene after, I answered ,because, 'I didn't finish proving my point', I was four. This is when my mother realized the hell tot she created and sent out to the world, so she pulled the plug on pre k and home schooled me until kindergarten. I haven't been able to stop thinking of this story since she told me. Not because it's somewhat adorable, but because I have been bullshitting myself for a long time after that. All the times I felt 'beat up' mentally and emotionally, I was intentionally making myself weaker than I actually am. No fuckboy, no girl, no teacher, no parent, not even the weather should have been able to stop me from doing what I always wanted to do. Whether it was was for bad or good.

I've been comparing myself to Courage the Cowardly Dog for the past seven weeks now, in which I can relate to his neuroticism, that feeling he would get when he felt helpless until he helped Muriel and Eustace. I get the same feeling in my gut when I didn't defend, fight, help, do, what my heart told me to do. It eats me afuckinglive actually. This explains my friction with various humans growing up. Where I could rarely understand someone's acts ,or non acts, because I found them cowardly and un Aurora like. This would usually involve me saying out loud what I thought you're doing wrong or not doing. (Like it was any of my business in the first place) As some, or most know, I am not afraid of my dear friend confrontation.

Realizing this sent my heart into overdrive in which, I now know what I can be capable of (finally). Kind of like, when Peter Parker discovered his spidery senses and got the stepping on saving the city. Any doubt I had left of 'can I be a boss for the bettys' was pushed out the 1000th story window by yours truly. The Bettys is ready, because I am ready, emotionally. I now have washed away all the self doubt I have had in the past nine months. I am actually full of anxiety due to anticipation. I just, can't wait.