hurricane season
on being a paradox (june RECAP)
from june till november a series of storms and heavy winds hit the caribbean region. either by geographic luck or the grace of the weather gods, the city where i live suffers minimal consequences compared to other regions in the same area. still, hurricane season is brutal, not in the impact on our environment but in our states of mind. unlike other countries far from the equatorial line, seasons don’t exist in the caribbean coast of colombia. it’s cloudy skies and pouring rain or scorching sun and humid heat.
for whatever reason heat is more comfortable than rain for us. when hurricane season comes around we forget how to be human. at least, i do. i thrive beneath sunny skies.
every year when june rolls around, sadness hits me like waves crashing against rocks. brutal and fierce. debilitating me to the point of inaction and dread.
i have the theory that rain season has an effect on me because i am a fire sign through and through—sun, moon, and rising. the water extinguishes my flames. or maybe it calms them down. i haven’t decided which one i believe the most in.
i don’t know what to blame my melancholia on. postgrad crash-out, the oscillating weather, or the fact that i am unemployed and have too much time on to dwell on past mistakes. it doesn’t help my case that everyone on social media seems to be thriving. they’re all eating ripe fruit and traveling to europe or asia. meanwhile i’ve been eating the worst i have in years, and the only place i leave my house for is the gym or the grocery store. i know social media is not an accurate representation of people’s lives, but my brain seems to ignore facts when it’s in this state. all it cares is that others seem to be doing more and better than i am.
even in the depths of depression i shower twice a day. i make bubbles with the soap and hope that the drops coming out of the faucet are made of holy water cleaning my body me of all my sins and despair. i’m not sure it works. but, hey, we all have our rituals.
i think i’ve been suppressing my emotions, and they are fighting to come out. i feel short of breath from the accumulation of words stuck in my throat. no one to blame but myself. i’m cutting my own breath, my own voice. i can’t seem to find a balance between open and closed. i want to rip my heart open, make a scene, cut myself in front of a crowd, and fill the streets with my blood. i want to lock my heart in a box and hide it in a closet with a lock no one knows the password of, not even me. i want to cut my vocal cords and make sure not a single syllable is uttered ever again. i want to scream at the top of my lungs. i want to feel everything and nothing at all.
i used to wonder, how is it possible for so much contradiction to live inside a body? but it doesn’t bother me anymore. i stopped thinking about life in absolutes a long time ago— it thrives in paradoxes and ambiguity. knowing that gives me a sense of peace even in my darkest hours. i am old and young. lost, and never more sure about myself. corroding and blooming. i’m a woman that contains multitudes, and i’m ok with that.