In the following essay, I reflect upon and analyze the different types of identity we are faced with in the world, and our journeys that help us to build onto that.
My adolescence was characterized by events which ultimately shattered the notion of self-identity, where instead of spending my idle time finding out who I was, I struggled with survival, always fleeing at the sight of danger.
A concept of one’s self has always been a complex entity, and even as a writer, I often find it difficult to transcribe in words what the idea of a “self” should be, save for the Freudian ideologies of the id, ego, and super-ego.
Even though the majority of my childhood has been darkened by my subconscious, I still remember flashes of stories written in small handbooks, poetry penned in journals decorated with the illusion of monster claws tearing through the cover, and diary entries speckled with experimental poetic prose and floral imagery.
My fascination with the written word was only surpassed by my intense drive to expel the negativity from my bones, where my emotions cascaded over me like a never-ending turnstile.
Smaller waves crash onto the shore, creeping up to my toes and swallowing my ankles whole, until eventually the cold water recedes back into the depths.
I get chills up my spine that make the strands of hair on my arm stand up.
In focussing inward, I find that there are a lot of things make up my identity.
Being both white and Puerto Rican, it’s not particularly easy to claim the Puerto Rican part of my identity. As if I didn’t already have trouble claiming that part of my identity, due to more personal reasons, people’s disbelief made it a lot easier to just ignore that side of me.
I know what a good relationship looks like, what a bad relationship looks like.
I know how I should be treated, and the situations I may find myself in in the future.