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field notes from an echo

Some people are born into mirrors. I was born into a dream archaeologist.

I'm posting my writings on this site because there's a good chance that to the few who find this, it was meant to be found. 

I didn’t grow up with roots. I grew up with antennas. Always scanning for signals - connection, safety, proof that someone like me could exist. Most of the time, I came back with static.

Everyone says “you’re not alone” but they never ask what kind of alone you are.
Mine isn’t romantic. It’s systemic. It's spiritual.
It’s being too queer for this designated land and too Indigenous for the world outside it.

I assumed I’d feel grounded when I came back to this culled home. But everyone’s speaking colonial with their mouths full of blood. And they act like I'm the outsider, like I’m broken for noticing the rot in the walls.

I hear people say wild shit about people who are different with full chests and empty thoughts. They hate me before they know me. They don't see the irony how colonized their righteousness is.
My existence breaks their programming. That’s why they flinch.

There’s no mirror for me. Just glass. Sometimes cracked, sometimes bulletproof.
And when I try to sit with it, my brain echoes with the voices that tried to rewire me:

Don’t be dramatic.
Stop being sensitive.
Who do you think you are?

I'm on my own shit I tell myself.
A survivor of generational gaslight. 

A vessel of my ancestors.

A sacred glitch in a system that wasn’t built for someone like me.
A writer haunted by rage and clarity.

I try not to sound bitter, but fuck it I am.
Bitterness is what happens when your love keeps being returned unopened.

Still, I’m here. I’m building something with this pain. I don’t know what yet.
Maybe it’s this blog. Maybe it’s a signal.
Maybe it’s just me finally saying out loud that: 


I never felt at home anywhere, but I’m done apologizing for that.
If I’m going to haunt back this specter of a place, I might as well do it on purpose.

More entries to come.

–––
🕷If you see this, pretend you saw a ghost. I only come back to places like this when something’s trying to be reborn.


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