A Poem For Small Things

It was not the best choice of words, but I definitely understood what my mom meant with “Giovanna, you’re an elephant in a glass shop”. At the time, I contradicted her, claiming her statement was a hyperbole- a word I had just learned in school.

I was wrong.

What she meant, for those who have not had the opportunity─ or the misfortune─ of meeting my recently-awakened-from-my-beauty-sleep self, is that I am quite chaotic. It is true that I am an early bird, but the long process of waking up every day involves hyped K-pop songs, loud voices, alarms every five minutes, so we won’t be late for school.

However, the more I reflect on it the more I comprehend that my resistance was nothing more than elementary denial. My impulsive opposition to her statement turned out to be a defense mechanism; a shield from the indisputable truth.

Until recently, I had been seeing a murky reflection in the mirror of a person I always assumed was me. I was blinded by an echo of someone I thought I should be, every day fathoming who this Giovanna is by looking back.

Let’s rewind the clock.

I was not different from any child — a universe in myself with myriad possibilities. A blank canvas ready for the creation of imaginary worlds. My mind was an entire microcosmos of made-ups. Made-up queens. Made-up palaces. Made-ups portrayed by the most exquisite of actors: the many trees with swings hanging from their branches in my grandparents’ backyard. Up high in the air, I was my own heroine ready to combat all the evil in the world.

Then the wind would swirl my chocolate-brown hair as the silence witnessed my many giggles. With rapid legs and a good hand grip, I would try to reach the clouds in the sky to then become quite dizzy for a few seconds as my feet touched the ground. Ignoring the many phosphenes in my eyesight, I would run as fast as my short legs would allow to the nearest tree. I would climb to the top of my favorite tree imagining the world around me. This dreamed world would concretize later on the day I would write my own plays and present them in the foyer with two tablecloths as curtains. A visionary.

Then I grew up.

I am an older sister.

I am every story I have read. I am the stories

that I write, the plays I imagine.

I am every to-do list I write, including my messy table.

I am a goofy girl who does not know how to ride a bike. Or make a bubble out of gum. Or whistle.

I am that girl who is a terrible karaoke singer.

I am my passions. My books. My dark sense of humor. I am that peculiar teenager who likes being in bed at 9 p.m. I am a feminist trying to make my country a better place.

I am who I want to be.

Du kannst sein wer du willst.

Although I may be lost in some ways regarding my future self and what world problems I want to solve, one thing is certain: I am who I want to be.

I am a whole constellation that shines for itself. And for that, I constantly face the mysterious process of discovering who I am and who I want to be. And as time goes by, I am becoming strong enough, powerful enough to be vulnerable.