Page 84 - Contrast2014

I am tempted now to say that none of it mattered. I
am embarrassed of those childhood fears that pestered me,
telling me in all their wrongness that I must "choose a
side" if I were ever to fit in. I was the typical immigrant
child, pushing against the imagined constraints of the
native culture, fighting to shed the influence of the past,
reaching to grasp the totality of America itself, ignorant
of the truth that I stand on the shoulders of those who
came before me.

Yet growing up cannot be defined by anyone single
moment, pinpointed exactly when we are older and have
had time to reflect on such things. Rather, I have grown
to see it as a constellation of events, in which emotions
and memories intertwine. Artificial threads dissolve and
give way to unique experience.

I remember we were almost home when the apology
stumbles out of my lips, followed by everything that had
been bothering me, every stifling and nagging anxiety,
and every expression of gratitude that I had not shared.
My tongue explores the edges of the words with earnest,
the sharp vowels of English, the twirling drumroll of the
Spanish r. I feel my way tentatively on the newly created
bridge, the line of vision linking two points of view, a
newborn synthesis that will forever offer me an invaluable
multifaceted view of the world around me.

The tones sing and sigh, rise, strain, and then surge
when syllables burst into fragments of momentary silence
as I draw in much needed air.

And finally, finally, it is a celebration of myself in a
voice that is all my own.

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