“& dont we believe in tmrws, too.” Jasmin Oya

“& dont we believe in tmrws, too.”

Jasmin Oya

trigger warning: suicide, depression

So i’ve been on this earth for about 20 solid yrs now and i learned a few things about this body & skin. it was told to me at a very young age that my body was somebody’s temple. that it absolutely wasn’t mine. it belonged to some heavy bearded man in the clouds who swore that i was his but we never really got around to talking about it & he’s shy & so he never comes around. or talks back. i learned who to not put in it, what not to put on it, how to heal it, how to scar it. in similar days, the television gave me reason to hide it more. my body wore me more than i wore her. she pretended to be cold when it was hot. she was so heavy and i recall being strictly embarrassed to be breathing in her. i separated myself from my body, mentally, as an escape. i always imagined myself in some other girl’s skin. wearing way more beauty and being good at being it. with way less to carry. way less to cover up. way less to learn to love. coupled with this sentiment was my desire for a new skin. i think there was once a time, & so many black girls can probably relate to this, where there were so many complaints we just had in our living. first, we were girls & we were always preparing to turn into women. we were so worried about our bodies. if we weren’t tucking tissues in our bra, drenching our face in makeup, shaving super early. soon, this insecurity became more. it became the total hatred of my body’s existence here. the other kids would tell me how my skin was too dark, too full of flaw. my body was taking up too much space. i decided to find ways to lose my existence in this body. i made fun of other ppl so everyone wouldn’t look at me too long. this soon translated to a fear of being alone w/ myself. i wanted to hurt my body. i wanted to leave it behind. very far behind. it’s in this dance with suicide that possibility rings the most. what can i do with tomorrow. i can always choose not to show to it. i can always decline its invitation. depression is a very dark place with terrible games of possibility and chance it’s in this possibility of living that i am learning to find an overwhelming love and desire to live in this thing every single day that i am blessed to. the mornings are much easier to see and i believe that much of it is attributed to this year. 2015 was full of ups and downs that often felt too much to handle. too heavy to carry. & it was all so tiring. there were days where there was a new fulfillment of a tragic possibility that i never wanted to see come true. & there were days that were a running water of joy. & in those days i was endless. it was in this land of beautiful mess that i learned to play the game of possibility & to play on the team of living. for the celebration of seeing tmrw. of demanding the day & fight for the arrival of it. when shit hits the fan, i celebrate for the possibility of a glory soon to come. i’ll tell you now, the battle scars are ugly and painful but sometimes pain is the medicine. breath is the victory. prayer is the healing. when i was little, fighting to get out of this skin,whitney was my fairy godmother, the only woman in this skin who sang the power into the impossible. she’s a lullaby i will never outlive. it is possible that a very ugly thing will happen tmrw. it is more possible that you will make it beautiful. for yu must believe in tmrws, too. yu were made to see them. they were made just to see you. you have to be there. G-d lives in the possible.


Posted on November 15, 2015 and filed under Black Fox, Literature, the food.