XX Chromosomes cried in excitement from the minute the ball dropped. 2016. My best friend and I cheered surrounded with friends, “This was our year.”
“This was my year,” I thought until I arrived home. I was back to the same frustration brought to me the only hours before.
“This was my year,” I thought while I hid from teachers and people in school.
“This was my year,” I thought while I proudly graduated from high school.
“This was my year,” I thought while I watched my friends leaving me left and right.
“This was my year,” I thought when I sat by myself, all alone.
“This was my year,” I thought while being able to take part in something I never dreamed of doing. The opportunity to be involved in one of the biggest productions I have ever known, in the famous center, the Barclays Center. A place where history and happiness have been made.
"This was my year,” I thought when I finally was able to get a job.
“This was my year,” I thought when that same job suffocated me from what I was most comfortable doing.
It was my year. A vulnerable year where I learned who I really was.
I was the girl who was different and strangely comfortable with it
The dance between myself and I the entire year was one of mix matched steps.
Sometimes we would step on each other’s toes. Sometimes we would pull away to only hold onto the each other’s pinky fingers. Sometimes we would come together, in a comforting dance two-step dance, enjoying the presence of the good and the bad contained in the other. The pain and the struggle dancing with the hopes and dreams deep within my soul.
Last year, I did not only learn who I could be.
I learned the true shape of me.