Happy Speckhood To Me

July is long gone, and now I’m face-to-face with another birthday.

I’m 29.  One year before the big 30.  On a side note: when I lived in Korea, 30 was the magic number: after 30, a woman’s shelf life supposedly reaches its expiration and you creep into that undesirable “spinster” territory if you’re unmarried.  30 is that round magical number where everything changes, and you’re supposed to have a fire under your ass, to get moving and accomplish those life goals you’ve been putting off until “later.”  Well, as a 29-year-old woman, I’m acutely aware that this is the time of my life; I’m in my prime, and there is no magic switch that will be flipped in one year.  I’m taking things at my speed, doing what I want to do at my own speed, with no one but myself to answer to.  This is the freest and most empowered I’ve ever felt.  If this feeling follows me into my 30’s, that’d be one of the greatest privileges I could hope for.

Around the time of the New Year and my birthday, it seems to be the season for reflection.  Perfectly spaced, twice a year, the time to take stock.

In the past year, or indeed since I arrived in France a year and a half ago, I’ve learned to speak French, become a freelance English teacher, gotten PACSed (in other words, signed into a legal partnership), found a good job where my coworkers call me on my birthday to sing me Happy Birthday, rekindled my interest in writing and drawing, succeeded (FINALLY) at having an herb garden, and started to delve into cooking more seriously (as a seriously pleasurable hobby, that is).

I’ve also lost friendships, hit my lowest emotional point, rebounded from that point, and evolved more than I ever have before.

But most of all, I’ve learned how and where to educate myself outside of the classroom.  I’ve learned that it’s okay not to be a complete island.  And I’ve started to research my family history, which is so much richer than I could have imagined, as well as the complex and fascinating history of Puerto Rico and Cuba.  Having an intimate knowledge of where my family comes from is both empowering and valuable.  For me, learning about the history of colonization, political and even musical and culinary history is a responsibility that I hadn’t fully realized the importance of.

It has simultaneously cemented my heritage: I am, without question, 100% Latina.  I come from a mixed lineage of Spanish conquistadors, African slaves, perhaps even French settlers and the Tainos.  The first time someone told me I didn’t “belong” with my family was when I was 9 years old, and now twenty years later, I can say with assurance that I do, in fact, have a place.  And it’s my job to claim it.

Now that I’ve got a clearer idea of who I am and what I want to say, it makes me more open to writing and sharing information with whoever is there to receive it.

§

Last night, shortly after midnight we saw the International Space Station zooming across the sky over France.  A bright speck that moved so quickly from one end of our horizon to the other, that we barely recognized it before it disappeared.  And I can only imagine, to the people onboard the ISS, we looked like a dark patch of night; to them, we were less than specks.  Makes me think about my whole infinite-universe-gives-us-ultimate-freedom theory.

I suppose I’m a speck that accepts its speck-hood and wants to enjoy its speck-sized glory while it has the chance.

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