I’ve been longing for years to resume this process — this therapeutic purge of word vomit and Aries overshare. Each and every letter smeared across the page — or screen — helping to heal that which is still broken (because healing is ongoing and can never, ever be linear).
It’s been 4+ years since I’ve decided to share my thoughts in written format on a digital landscape (excluding Instagram — my one and only social media platform). And here I am again. It’s funny how things come full circle — back to where you thought you’d never be again.
Join me along this ride. Trust me (if you dare); this space is where I’ll delve deep, sharing what I believe are the keys to my growth and expansion (not referring to my dress size here, but expanding emotionally, mentally… etc wise).
My father was my first lesson in compassion. Learning to accept the apology that my father could not and would not provide was not only the greatest challenge of my young adult life, but also my greatest lesson in forgiveness.
I low-key hated my dad. And it wasn’t because of what he did but actually due to how I felt about his actions (more to discuss on this later because there is a difference).
My father – like the rest of us – is a flawed being wrapped in flesh and bone; thereby, making him highly capable of making shitty decisions and so he did. He made a decision so risky (and arguably shitty) that it landed him 8.5 years of federal time. This decision that he made obviously affected his family but in nuanced ways that most people can not or choose not to comprehend.
Remember that? The good old days (c. 1997) when your elementary school teacher would do her roll call. “PRESENT!” said the little kiddies in the classroom (or “HERE!” if you were rebellious). I remember those responses being so enthusiastic — even at 8am. Ahhhh, childhood.
Fast Forward 2x to 2017; I can barely function at 8am (I really prefer not to but it’s necessary on most days).
I would be lying if I wrote that nothing has changed, because although I didn’t realize it in Ghana– so much had changed, but let’s pick up where we left off: my girls.
Natyna. The girl with the golden-kissed skin, dyed, kempt locks and cherub cheeks– she’s all you could ever ask for. She will tell you, “I smile this way because I know I have messed up teeth so I had to embrace them.” And so she does. Every inch of Natyna exudes confidence–not to be confused with arrogance. She’s humble, and coming from Philadephia, pursuing a double minor at NYU in Africana Studies and dramatic writing– she’s eloquent in her speech, fluid with her vowels and adjectives so that her words caress your ears when she speaks. One thing that she doesn’t do is fall short of things to say, but I always wonder what’s her trick? How does she know exactly when, where and how to soothe your hurt with a rhetoric of solace, wisdom and youthful optimism gelled into one?
I don’t think I’ll ever figure it out– how she balances the weight of her family on her back, caring 100% for everyone (and everything!)– again, never falling short of that. She’ll admit, “I worry too much,” not afraid to put her darkest, most horrible flaws out to the world because in the end we’re all human. Being vulnerable doesn’t scare her like it would most and people gravitate towards that– that uncannied realness that you can’t find even if you travelled to the center of the earth. LOYALTY. At heart, she’s a mother– always feeling the need to lick wounds, offering comfort and her nurturing presence. I think she was born to have babies actually! All in all, no one can top this girl. She’s the perfect fruit juice blend of nature, nurture, loyalty, insanity, creativity and direction in one whole person. Natyna Siobhan Osborne.