first comes love
Motherhood is but a fray among many in a split strand. The fiber from which it stems stands rooted and whole at the base but divided at the furthest extremity. Burdened and broken by a century’s worth of pressures, what remains of it are faint, but distinguishable, fragments on the road to home. Before this fray came another. The foundation of all things in this short life: love.
The messages regarding the subject were often conflicting, overwhelmed by interference and static. Like many families, mine has its fair share of divorces, affairs, noncommittal arrangements, and marriages hanging by a thread. Despite the unfortunate few, laughter and love overflowed. They filled our cups and drowned our tears. What was never addressed, however, were the skeletons pouring out of the closets as the overflow pushed to clear our consciences.
“‘No te cases con un Moreno’, though our skin remained brown.”
’No te cases con un Moreno’, though our skin remained brown. ‘Ni con un hombre de pelo malo’, as they criticized my hair. ‘Tienes que adelantar la raza’, because apparently we started at a deficit. ‘Tu sabes lo que es peinar cabello malo. Ayuda a tus hijos’, were among the many groaning reminders.
Marrying black became synonymous with generational regression. Our hypothetical children were often examples of the kind of future “we” (the first-generation) did not want, if they ever came to be. Somehow in the sea of backhanded jokes and cautionary plights not a soul was considered racist or a victim of self hate. Everyone shared similar sentiments around the subject of race advancement. They also shared their denial. Their memories and wisdom were relived in laughter but remained rooted in fear and rejection.
I wanted more for myself when it came to love. Something pure. A partnership with substance, free of racist filters and the manipulation of conditioned self hate. I had my fill of familiar and wasn’t convinced. The deeper I delved into playing things safe, the more disconnected I grew from myself. The more I hated what I knew. If love required a settle then I didn’t want it at all.
“‘Tienes que adelantar la raza’, because apparently we started at a deficit.”
I met my husband in passing. Barely noticing him on the first encounter, although he’d say otherwise. Mutual friends made for the quirky re-introduction that sprouted our friendship. I liked him but thought, surely, he had better options than esta morena de pelo malo. Contrary to my broken perspective, he loved everything about me and made it known in his pursuit.
My family absolutely loved him but doubted my ability to “keep” him. If I didn’t soften my rebellion against relaxers then my greña was sure to repel his gaze. Physical concerns aside, my temper alone, according to my mother, would have me returned. If only she could burn the receipt. ‘Tienes que estar linda’, they’d say, ‘porque ese hombre está bueno.’ You would think I was conjuring spells to lure him or that he was bamboozled into noticing the servant girl among royal options. Externally, I remained stubborn but internally I was withering. Succumbing to the narratives that had long chanted “you’re simply not enough”. BUT first comes love; unobstructed, unrelenting love.
“Where displacement, dictatorship, and racism defined a generation, love would be the straw to break the camel’s back.”
God knows what you need, when you need it. I didn’t need a savior, I already had that. I needed a partner with vision. Someone who could see me better than I could see myself in the worst of times and in the most uneventful. Justin was just that. His love, imperfect and human, is healing. It holds a mirror to my soul while affirming that I am already whole. No conditions, no exceptions. Where displacement, dictatorship, and racism defined a generation, love would be the straw to break the camel’s back.
