I had a dream a few nights ago that I was back in school at Mater Dei.Â Having heard Aurora talked about burning her hand on chemistry set back in high school at dinner time, in the dream, I ended up back in a chemistry lab.Â My lab partner is one of my school friends but she is for some reason in a wheel chair and for that I have to help her with her lab stuff.
We were supposed to be measuring water into this beaker.Â She kept telling me I was doing it wrong, that was too much water, that wasn’t enough water, it wasn’t supposed to drip like that, etc.
Why don’t you just do it, I asked.Â You can’t use your legs but your hands are free. I’ll hold the beaker for you, even.
I can’t, she said. I’m sick, can’t you see?Â Now, try it again with the dropper.
So I did.Â Once again, she said I was doing it wrong.
I grabbed the beaker and poured the water on her head.
Naturally, she started screaming.Â What the hell is wrong with you?Â Why would you do that?
The teacher came over.Â What is going on here, she asked.Â Oakley poured water all over me, my lab partner whined.Â The teacher looked at me for an answer.
Because she’s being a little bitch, I pointed out.
The room fell silent.
I see America has changed you, the teacher said.Â Now, get out of my lab and go pack your bag too. This school no longer welcomes you.Â (Apparently, in this dream, my school becomes a boarding school.)
Fine, I said.Â And I left.
A bit of foreshadowing perhaps of my trip to come?Â Hell, I already got a request to take down my Princess Leia zombie picture on my Facebook because it was “embarassing.”
Just for that, I’m going to upload a whole bunch of pics to my Facebook gallery.
I am turning 32 tomorrow.Â Given, I had a pretty good idea of who I was when I came to the U.S. at 16.Â However, I have struggled to find my place in the world for years–and I’ve compromised plenty.Â Now that I’ve finally embraced my weirdness and quirks and the shape of my body, I refuse to have someone take that away from me again.
The only person I would take that kind of criticism from is my mother, and she is no more.Â I will no longer compromise when it comes to my identity.
I will not back down to keep the peace just because I make you uncomfortable.Â I refuse to be an easy target for you to feel better about yourself.Â I refuse to be the scapegoat for your own low self esteem.Â I refuse to be responsible for your feelings because you can’t accept me for who I am.
If you need an excuse from me so I am acceptable enough to you, then clearly, you can’t stand me at all.
I am who I am.Â Take it or leave it.