Finding Freedom Kristin Osika

Finding Freedom

At first it comes as a fleeting thought, a crashing wave of subconscious significance. An involuntary spasm of the mind, one much too radical for a woman of her kind.

Yet it persists, undergoing a metamorphosis, fighting suppression by an entranced bourgeoisie, that allows just one definition of what a woman should be.

They say she must sit properly, and play the piano. They leave no room for her to have a melody of her own or a life outside of home.

Freedom takes the form of high hopes, paint strokes, and the casual glint in a young gentleman’s eye. He gives her strength to soar high he makes her think she can fly, even in New Orleans’ hierarchical sky. Yet even he cannot resist the allure of being to her, a proper monsieur.

The man who seemed to defy the odds shatters her heart by removing the facade.

Drawn closer to the realization that all he desires is her objectification, she knows what she thought would be her whole world has become yet another white picket-fenced, lavishly decorated, ornately furnished,

cage.

Birds cannot fly without an open sky. She cannot be his or theirs. She cannot become yet another mother or au pair. Dinners with socialites and fêtes on jubilant nights will not define her spark of life.

She approaches the vast unknown where she will conquer the stigma of being alone. In the ocean, she is free. She is finally, able to breathe.