MEDEA

But how possibly could you

Let them live, knowing their mother was a Murderer, and how possibly could you live Knowing their father would Whisper curses of your name into their ears, Knowing they would come to hate you.

They will say that

Jason should have known Medea’s Evil, when she, in cold blood, killed Her brother and threw his limbs into the Sea. How she, in cold calculation, knew Her grieving father would stop to pick up each part of his child.

I will know that

Your father would have killed you, Thrown your limbs into the sea, had He ever caught you. How could you Ever trust a man who valued a golden Sheepskin over his own daughter? How Could anyone ever be asked to resist that Innate reflex to stop the beating of another’s heart To prolong one’s own. Not even Hercules could.

They will say that

Jason is greatest of heroes. Favored by The gods, he sailed to Colchis, and Bravely completed each task laid out by King Aeëtes.

I will know that

Stepping out into the late afternoon

On that fateful day, you saw him Framed against the brilliant reds of Helios. Face gaunt with sea travel, hair bleached by Sun and yet you still fell in love.

I will know that

You, like Ariadne handing Theseus the ball of yarn, gave Him gifts, under the misty light Of Artemis, so that he might survive.

I will know that

You never thought you Would become the next Ariadne.

II. The Mourning

Medea, I mourn for you. Because even though you devoted yourself to me, Hecate, You have only been given two choices Jason or your father Jason or your brother You or your children. You have only known The constant hallway of doors contained Within the cracked marble hands of Janus. Even when I was the goddess of crossroads. I should have offered you endless possibilities, but I contained you to two.

Medea, I mourn for you. Because your choices will be judged As long as the gods reign. They Will only know you from stories. Only know you as a Child-killer Brother-killer.

They will never know the Screams that tore your body

As your children grew cold against your chest. Never know your endless Tears that flaked with the seawater As you threw your dead brother from The ship.

Never know the soft brown of your Eyes when you first saw him.

Your heart is so weary from choosing. Come, let it rest.

When my sixth-grade science teacher approached a scene in the hallway resembling a sketchy drug deal, she had the right to show concern.

“What in the world are y’all doing?!” she questioned the huddle of prepubescent students exchanging money for a mysterious substance. At a closer look, the supposed drug lord revealed himself as merely a twelve-year-old kid.

“Holt’s selling us slime!” a girl responded excitedly. By the look on my teacher’s face, she did not share her enthusiasm.

My customers were asked to disperse to class as my teacher walked me to the principal’s office to ask, seemingly for the first time in her career, if students were permitted to sell what she re-named “goo.” Nervously awaiting my judgment, innocent sixth-grade me stood outside the office door with shaky knees. The verdict declared I wasn’t allowed to sell slime at school anymore, and I returned home for the first time in four days without a new list of orders.

The following day, my teacher emailed me a wellintentioned proposal to help me with my business on Saturdays at a nearby Chick-fil-A. I imagined her holding up a sign reading “Homemade Goo for Sale!” while I sat beside her at a table awkwardly placed in the parking lot. I politely declined her offer.

Thankfully, my business was already successful elsewhere. My bedroom was the international headquarters for my online “SlimeyBoii” shop where slimes were designed, created, photographed, marketed on my Instagram with 70,000+ followers, and sold on SlimeyBoiiShop.com which attained over fifty orders a week. While my mom often complained of the dried slime encrusting the floors and corners of my room, my parents encouraged my young entrepreneurship. Amidst the viral slime craze of 2016, I had found a passion for mixing glue and borax into a putty-like toy that, who knew, could be turned into a business.

Ironically, though, I had chosen a business name too easy for bullies at my new middle school to make my nickname. My confidence was a work-in-progress, despite my entrepreneurial strength, and being mockingly characterized by the nickname “Slimey Boy” made me feel excluded and out of place.

When the slime craze eventually ended, the dignity I should’ve felt for my accomplishments was muddled by the shame the bullies had made me feel. I wished to fast forward to when my slime business was well forgotten.

Sophomore year, when I independently bought my first car with the money I had made, I stopped running away from being associated with Slimeyboii. I was able to physically see a product of my hard work and genuinely appreciated the ambition of sixth-grade me. Simultaneously, I came to terms with the sexuality my internalized homophobia had long tried to repress, and I found it was easier to live life appreciating myself for who I am rather than trying to change myself. I finally adopted a concrete self-confidence, acknowledging the wonderful mix my vibrant personality, work ethic, go-getter attitude, and passions yield.

Since then, I’ve struck a beautiful chord of using strengths to accomplish my goals. While freshman-year me was about to topple over from shaky knees during my StuCo election speech, I now stand proudly (and sturdily) at monthly community meetings in front of hundreds. It’s weird to admit, but I now enjoy public speaking because it gives me a feeling of purpose and responsibility. I’ve even added “Give a Ted Talk” to my life-goal bucket list.

Long nights of slime-making have now been replaced by late-night screenplay writing sessions or binge readings of books recommended to me by my favorite English teacher in preparation for our fervent outside-of-class discussions. I’m a film geek, literature nerd, public speaker, and entrepreneur, and I own it all! As I go forth in the world, I’ll forever dedicate myself to my passions knowing I’ll find my future self eternally enriched as a result.

Evan Li