Journal Entry, September 21, 2013
And what will they say of me? When all is said, has been written, and is done – what will they say?
Like a butterfly on the battlefield, how do I imagine that I will make it through? Fragile wings, paper thin, beating among the bullets. Somehow, I hold on. Even though my strong resolve seems wavering, moment by moment. Something urges me on. So, let the battle rage. When the odds are against me, I will move forward. I will pursue.
Take me higher on these tiny wings. I don’t know where I’m going – a good enough place to begin.
I will know myself, unrelenting.
I will Triumph.
This life, I will win.
Maybe it’s the champagne. Maybe it’s because I woke up at 4:30 this morning, thinking about homework due. Maybe it’s because I dream in fits of poor Spanish. This is the worst best semester.
When it begin, I remember walking to my car, repeating, “Fuck. Shit. Fuck…I’m fucked. Shit.” Spanish kicked my ass in five minutes. Medieval Literature had my neck on the chopping block. Sacred Texts felt far from sacred. This semester was supposed to be about claiming my power, and it beat my ass down hard. I thought I was a prize fighter, world champion. I had the belt. But, I was down. One punch, against the ropes and hitting the mat. How did I get here? That was the foggy question when I came to the next morning, like a dazed fighter, head against the mat, staring at a jeering crowd. How did I get here? I’m a champion. I wouldn’t go down like this. So, I pulled my bruised body up. I poured my searing cup of coffee, and sat in silence, making up my mind. I would not quit. I would work harder. Sometimes, the fight is just in showing up. But, each morning I pour my cup of coffee and make the decision to fight back. Then I start throwing punches.