I struggle daily to understand myself. Sometimes, I wonder why I prefer relish over mustard, dark over light, dresses over pants. Usually, I have an answer for myself. At least, logic that seems logical to me. Then there are times I wonder who I am.
When my brother’s new bride came to our house, we all sat down and decided, that to get better acquainted, my family members would introduce themselves. A ‘it’s kind of too late to back out now, so you might as well know the truth about us,’ if you will. One by one, eldest to youngest, they stood up, and they stood alone. They all spoke of where they grew up, what they studied, where they are now and how they got there. I didn’t understand – all I could think was that this wasn’t who they were. Not to me. Eventually, it was my turn so I stood up and with a wave of my hand, I told her, “I’ll give you my résumé later.” I, then proceeded to tell her that her new husband – my brother – and I are very close and explained how that relationship came to be. Sure wasn’t always that way. I told her that I sometimes say the wrong things, and that I hope she’ll forgive me for them. I welcomed her to the family as everyone before me had.
But I still sat down unsatisfied.
I don’t know how to explain to her how my tongue never tastes quite right to me. Or anyone else, for that matter.
This confusion intertwines with my every step, tripping me. My hands and knees hurt, and I still don’t know how to break it to anyone that I’m human. Perhaps the only person refusing to accept it is me.
So for now, I smile, put together sentences that I can get away with, tilt my head and say, “you get me?” and pray that one day I’ll be able to say ‘yes’ to my own question.