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Today isn’t a good day. At the moment the only thing that is cheering me up is Adam (of Taking Back Sunday).
Ever sit in a room filled with loved ones, yet deep down felt like a stranger? I truly loathe when someone establishes a concrete belief upon another without interacting or having a decent conversation. The occasional “hello” over a span of several years does not designate that one knows the unique individual that the other is and vice versa. Making assumptions using someone else’s past as the basis of who they presently are may be neither consistent nor accurate. Simply shrugging off the changes as a “phase” and confirming it with “we all went through that”. Some people fail to realize their perceptions of one another are possibly based upon false image, lack of communication, or a combination of both. Commonly, when one matures, outsiders begin to mock the unfamiliar. This may result in deciding to suppress one’s truth simply because “I don’t want to experience that rejection again” and “will they think I’m a poseur?” All that remains is the being they believe you to be – all for the sake of acceptance. For a long time I felt as if I was placed into a box, which my cousin, Alfredo, noticed. I feel most people lack understanding for another’s evolution. I’m not a little girl anymore.
At family gatherings, I generally feel misapprehended. Who is to blame? The time we do not spend together or my lack of words? The only relative that knows me carefully is Alfredo – almost like a brother. We’ve spent time talking and asking questions for better understanding. We’ve shared philosophies and interests with one another. Most importantly, he never judged me, which is therapeutic. During a breakup, I was unable to gather my thoughts, yet, he found the words for me. We are one another’s savior at these gatherings. A relative once saw that my fingernails were painted black except for the middle fingers, which were painted pink. She identified it as evil. I corrected and taught her that there is nothing “evil” about the color black. I don’t associate darkness with any negative connotation. Ever consider why Priests and Nuns wear black? Perhaps the color is humbling to them. Several writers may use darkness for metaphoric purposes, yet one must decide its meaning on their own without outside influences. I was scorned by another, “Oh, so you’re Gothic now?” I believe before asking an individual if they are a “Goth”, or any label for that matter, one must be aware of the deception caused by stereotypes and not be disapproving based upon them. Let’s take this question into consideration, shall we? Am I a Goth? I believe Goth to be Neo-Romanticism and I connect with it more than anything else. Ultimately, it takes one to know one. Another suggested “it’s a phase” that even they experienced, yet how can someone come to such a bold conclusion on my behalf? They expressed how they dyed their hair black and wore dark-colored clothing at some point in their life. Remember, Goth is not, and never will be, based upon one’s fashion sense. It is a mentality and expression; a life-style. Although one’s fashion may be a reflection of who they are, it does not define them.
I’ve noticed several others found my music choice rather odd and sudden. Who is to blame? I was once abruptly asked, “Since when you got into rock [music]?” I snapped back, “Since when was I not?” Their mistake was that they assumed I was just like them. I can sit in a room and allow others to play the music of their choice and tolerate it. However, my toleration should not be mistaken for enjoyment unless stated otherwise. Throughout my childhood, I grew up hearing Hip-Hop, R&B, Pop, and Spanish music, thus, these genres hold many memories for me. Though I’ve enjoyed dancing along to it, it is not a default music choice of mine. Since I was the only child in the household, I would listen to the radio in our living room. I grew to have an eclectic taste, though I wasn’t aware of the artists. A step-sister would occasionally stay for the weekend and showed me music she enjoyed. I enjoyed the amusing and carefree songs in Hip-Hop, but everything else appeared as foolish and/or unmoving. During middle school, I was told to stay at my aunt’s after school until my mother arrived from work. I would seclude myself in Venus’ room, Alfredo’s older sister, and listen to her CDs. I remember finding one particular CD cover odd where a baby was lying still in a pool of water. I decided to take a listen and realized “Smells Like Teen Spirit” was by this band – Nirvana. I discovered Jewel, Alanis Morissette, Soundgarden, Aerosmith, and other artists Venus enjoyed. Up until that point, I recognized I barely paid enough attention to who the artists were in order to discover more music. I recall Jenny and I being big fans of the Backstreet Boys. I don’t look down on the music or the times because we have great memories dancing around and singing. We bonded over it and despite growing out of it, which her brother predicted, I never belittle the experience since it is a part of who I was and presently am. Eventually, I had to live with my aunt for six months. I engulfed myself into Disco, Rock, Pop; almost everything except Metal, which luckily comes later. If Venus bought the CD, I listened. She was someone I could relate to without saying a word. Music allowed me to see that she and I were almost twins (to this day my aunt says we’re exactly alike about everything, even our relationships, lol). She let me borrow her CD player and encouraged my habit of lying under the covers listening to music, which I still do to this day. During the summer and last year of high school, several friends introduced me to Heavy Metal and immediately I fell in love. The music and lyrics moved me in a way I never felt before. It’s so intensely fierce and can be oh-so sexy at times. I love it. I was bombarded by insane guitar and bass riffs, the occasional symphony, moving drum beats, and powerful vocals. It’s a euphoric experience. I simply drown in the music like you wouldn’t believe. Heavy Metal isn’t all that I am, however, it’s a huge part of who I am today.
Towards the end of high school, I began to disassociate myself. Who is to blame? Some were slightly clueless as to why, but I surely knew the reasons. In some situations, one becomes unhappy with the disguise they’ve worn for so long and notice others’ opinions are based on this lie. Or one begins to realize how much they haven’t shared and discover the foundation holding the friendship together either no longer exists or never truly has – this is what happened when I grew up. I began to explore my interests in deeper detail and would often self-reflect. During this time, I learned many things about myself that I neglected for quite some time. I had this instinctive feeling that many people had this fixated portrait of me. I suppose my book-cover didn’t portray otherwise. Once I was told, “You’re not being yourself.” The only thought that came to mind was, “then who am I?” If one knew me so thoroughly, I would have liked to have been enlightened. After all, they should know since they saw me daily, right? Wrong. I believed sharing with those I felt disconnected to would likely result in dismissal and judgment, which caused me to part from them and grow closer to those who I felt embraced my maturity.
Lastly, who is to blame? Perhaps I am; perhaps my withdrawal and silence. And suppose this is all a phase, so then I conclude this has been quite a lasting phase thus far. Regardless, I will not be silent anymore.
