my present, my past,MY FUTURE Isis West
From years one to “too big,” my favorite place to be was indisputably on my dad’s shoulders. Regardless of how trivial or insignificant my thoughts might have seemed, their leverage lay comfortably atop of them. As a result, curiosity ruled my younger years, primarily through the discovery of Orion’s Belt, my very first constellation. The first time I saw Orion’s Belt was in my backyard on an early winter evening. As I perched on top of my father, he pointed it out to me and explained in a very matter-of-fact tone that each star represents my past, my present, and my future. One, two, three of the universe’s stars in the most perfect arrangement in the night sky, just for me? I was skeptical and fearful to assume that level of importance. The next evening, I ventured out to look for my constellation again, this time alone. Physically closer to the ground now, I got comfortable sitting with my thoughts, without the benefit of my dad’s guided questions. The beginning of Michael Jackson’s “Human Nature” started up in the wired headphones that extended from my bright pink iPod nano, and I began searching. As Michael narrated the expedition, singing “looking out across the nighttime,” a new question urgently arose in me: “Why does the sky never change?” My dad encouraged me to keep a journal of all of the questions I had so that I could come back and consult them later. He would say, “whether that means later tonight, or 20 years from now, never stop questioning, never stop looking for answers for yourself, and never stop writing.” The final crescendo of the night reached me as Michael wailed his last, “oh why” and I, subconsciously, found myself softly singing that same phrase. Orion’s Belt was now represented by a sketch of three black dots on a page in my overused journal, circled by serendipitous scribbles of the word “why.” But “why” is broader than my constellation or my interpretation of sky mechanisms. “Why” is the embodiment of curiosity and a fragment of
every person’s “Human Nature.” Gazing at the stars, I often find myself fabricating stories of my ancestors—stories where constellations, like my own Orion’s Belt, persuade and influence people’s lives. The stories shared by my parents about their family and culture have an invincible hold on my decisionmaking, imagination, and perspective on what I now understand to be my purpose. Spinning these stories helps me unravel the mysteries of my own life. Like how being Afro-indigenous means that my life’s rhythm will forever be overly complicated and indecisive, never knowing which note it will and can land next. Consequently, I found that even doing something as fleeting as introducing myself was a dreary experience for me because my first name is Egyptian, my middle is South African, and my last is Native American. Younger me was bashful when doing so and always anticipated ignorant reactions and responses. In the same way that I had to accept my origins of thought when contemplating Orion’s Belt, I had to acknowledge, accept, and be proud of my name and family origins. Storytelling, music, and my dad’s shoulders—all are key elements that compose and conduct my impassioned pilgrimage, shaping the multifaceted person that I am today. A person longing to be as remarkable a thinker and storyteller as the stars, my ancestors, my father, and Michael Jackson. As I approach the end of a fleeting childhood, I am confident that those elements will continue to guide my journey towards such: to playfully challenge me without my having to feel gridlocked by “set in stone” answers, to take me to where interpersonal change is tangible and applicable to the things that make me me, just as witnessing Orion’s Belt on that cold, winter night has. After all, what is more perfect and magically balanced than three stars in the sky? Blue Review Vol. XXVIII
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