When I was in 3rd grade my mom sat me down and taught me about the Holocaust. I always knew we were Jewish. I knew that my dad was a non-practicing Christian from a small town in Texas. I understood that my mother had a hard time with his family because they said anti-semitic things to her. My blood battled itself.
I was diagnosed with cancer at 21. Instead of dealing with the trauma of my diagnosis, I bypassed the full spectrum of my experience by immediately looking for the gift. The silver lining we seek to make sense of life’s chaos. Asking what Samantha wanted or needed required too much honest self-reflection, so I began outsourcing guidance from society instead of looking for it within. I gave up my power. Thus, my connection to Self was severed.
When I was younger, I’d run straight to the Girls’ section for my clothes. They had all the colors, and to me, color represented joy. My mom never complied.
I grew up in a small town in New Zealand watching films of people who lived in Inglewood and Compton. Listening to musicians from the UK to Jamaica. Lennon and Marley were my legends. My diverse interests taught me early on that the gap between cultures is an illusion. Everyone I observed wanted the same thing: Love.
Death is always around the corner. My friends jokingly call me morbid, but really, I’m just hyper-aware of my mortality.
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