Open my Heart

Last (last) Sunday, I had a swimming lesson with Alexandria. She was incredibly patient while I floundered in the water. I defeated no stereotypes that day - embarrasingly, I thought I could swim without getting my hair or face wet, and I had no interest in doing so. All I could think about was the story Jacob told me about his older brother, who he swore had went bald from the excess amount of chlorine that lingered in his hair from swimming. The goal of the lesson was to float. Alexandria said I had to trust her, and I did, but I couldn’t relax my body enough to become a floating mass. Anxiety turned me into a sinking stone, I couldn’t let go of the worries. I couldn’t be vulnerable in that moment and embrace the embarrasment, the wet hair, the water in my eyes, I didn’t want to be perceived doing something I wasn’t good at (Which in hindsight is silly, considering Maya was recording everything with my camcorder). I am still learning to open my heart to all of life’s experiences.

Later, we went downtown to Ziggys Magic Pizza Shop (I had to get my Ziggy fries). Joyce was discussing her Saturday night out. She explained that whenever she goes somewhere new, she picks a new persona to embody, a new name, a new ethnicity. People tended to come to their own conclusions about her origins due to her accent, so why not control the narrative? The creation of a new persona unlocked a sort of freedom. Maybe that was a concept I needed to apply to myself. No, that wasn’t Erika acting an absolute fool, but Chiamaka (as I decided my alter ego would be named). Chiamaka is bright and bubbly. Chiamaka has a cute nickname, Chi Chi, and doesn’t care what anyone thinks. Chiamaka walks with her head held high, and approaches every situation with an open mind and heart. For one night, I need to be her, just to know what it feels like to be truly free.

After our hangout I went to band practice. I have been writing “lyrics” like a madman - in actuality they are just poems that I am praying can be shaped into songs. I ended up sharing them with my bandmates - my attempt at being open hearted - which was painfully uncomfortable but necessary. Now that I have shown them my dreadfully saccharine words, I can’t be ashamed of anything else I share because they’ve seen the worst, and my work can only improve from here. The weight of vulnerability that comes with the opening of the heart can be exhausting to hold. It sat with me for the entirety of practice, in which I continuously tried to play my bass guitar. I make mistakes, I get confused, I don’t pick up on songs as easily as I want to, and I feel like everyone is perceiving me in this obvious struggle and making their own internal judgements. As if I’m the tank of the band, holding Raul and Phuong back from greatness. Which is not true, it’s clearly not true, but the thoughts remain and after a while I have no motivation to continue playing. How childish. Part of opening my heart is embrace the suck. Learn to carry the weight of vulnerability with care, like a newborn child. Nurture it, and eventually it will learn to hold itself. I have to trust that my bandmates will hold me, that they won’t let me sink and laugh at my demise. All things I am internalizing, but still, I had a fun day.

During practice my sister called, and she was surprised to hear about my quasi-band. “You have so many side quests,” she said, and Phuong agreed. Upon review, I realized I do want to pursue many things, which explains the perpetual stress I have, the feeling that I’m not doing enough with my time, and that I always need to go-go-go, always in a rush. Band, writing, blog. Igbo, reading, JPRGs. Grad school, workout, be social. Etc, etc, etc. How to balance it all? Everybody says, you only need an hour a day to get good at anything. But is there enough hours to do these activities, along with going to work, and, hopefully, having a spare hour to sit and stare into space to recover my social battery because I am an introvert? While I was leaving Alexandria’s apartment, I was in such a rush to put on my Doc Martens (they take forever to put on). Lexi was like it’s ok, take your time. And I was like, holy shit, you’re right. I don’t need to rush. I can spend 2 minutes putting on my Docs and the world will continue to turn. Maybe I would be able to open my heart more if I could relax, take my time with life, find a way to balance it all, or make peace with the fact that everything won’t always be perfectly in balance - sometimes I will have to neglect one thing to do another thing. Or maybe I can do everything, I’ll just drink more Bloom energy drinks.

Later in the week, I sat with Joyce and Maya at lunch. Somehow, a regular lunchtime conversation drifted into a much needed expulsion of past traumas and family divisions, and at some point, I realized our friendships must have reached a deepening point for them to trust me enough to share this information. The one thing I lamented afterwards: Must a Black woman’s coming of age be a journey of suffering? Surviving trials and tribulations into adulthood, then learning how to squeeze yourself into society’s mold, in the hopes that, after removing the parts of you considered unacceptable, changing your hair, making yourself small, the reward would be a modicum of relief, maybe an inch of joy? Perhaps my need to pursue activities, comes not only from the enjoyment I find in them (I do like to write, to play Bass, etc.), but this need to be the “perfect Black girl.” She’s well rounded, she’s never angry, she’s approachable, she’s “different.” Am I in a fight with society’s stereotypes for me? Is the fear of opening my heart a fear of how society will judge me as a Black woman for being a three dimensional human being, flawed, imperfect, often lazy, I have no answers, we are just three Black women traversing the journey of adulthood together, something I take comfort in. Every day micro (and macro) aggressions are enough to weigh any person down, but with enough support, you can overcome (or at least, find a way to cope) such misfortunes and experience the brighter sides of life. At least, that is how I feel, knowing I am not alone.