I never finished it. Writing about myself makes me uncomfortable in a way that’s hard to explain.

It feels too honest, too vulnerable.

I remember writing it the day after my parents lectured me against pursuing anything that wasn’t STEM. Sitting at my desk and not being able to push down the anxiety. Counting ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one, to no avail.

Then I sat down with my journal and the words poured out for the first time. I couldn’t figure out what happens past it’s dark, it’s light, a hand reaches out then, but now I think about Ace’s smile, Ace’s patience, Ace’s kindness. I think I finally have the answer.

somewhere there are birds that fly free

here, I am caged and can barely breathe

there is so much to say

these thoughts never fall from my lips

I am scared of so goddamn much

afraid these flames will burn

my fingers, they hurt from clinging so hard

I’m lost, I’m bruised, I don’t know what to do

I never thought I’d give up

but I’m starting to think I’m going to lose

it’s dark, it’s light, a hand reaches out

I hold, you pull

somehow I find the will to keep on

unshakeable, you whisper

I exhale my first clean breath

unshakeable, I whisper

freedom tastes sweeter than I’d expect

unshakeable, we whisper

you guide me through the fire

unshakeable, we whisper

you hold every key I thought I’d never find

some days, my hands, they tremble with doubt

you take them, you press them

against your chest where your heart beats steady

when I shiver, you sing to me

the sweetest of songs

the sun is brighter than it’s ever been

and I think for you, I’d join the fight again

unshakeable, you whisper

unshakeable, I whisper

unshakeable, we whisper

“Unshakeable,” I whisper to myself. I finished it. I opened myself to that vulnerability.

Unshakeable.

It’s what I want to be. It’s what I hope to be.

I close my journal and take a deep breath, letting that sink in. Unshakeable. If I was unshakeable, there are so many things I would do.

T-9 days.

Nine days until my parents are back and everything changes.

Nothing terrifies me more than my parents’ disappointment. Of losing their respect and love. Those things feel flimsy most days as it is. To lose what little I have is the most horrifying thing I can think of.

I know I’m not the only one who struggles to find the balance between loving their parents and being who they want. A lot of other brown people I know have dealt with situations like this. My experience isn’t singular.

But that doesn’t make it any less scary. I might not be entirely alone in this experience, but I am alone.