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I Curate My Own Demise

This is what it was like to hate my body: the anxiety manifests as a physical burn on my skin. The build up feels like a shock between too hot and too cold. It starts in my shoulders and makes me want to break out of my own skin. Every moment served as a rebellion or a self loathing. The hatred I feel towards my stomach, face, and thighs was so intense that sometimes I look in the mirror and didn’t even know that it is me. I used to spend hours in the gym and would still feel like it was never enough to become lovable. I shut out friends, family, and relationships until it was just me and...

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Just Go With the Flow . . . or in This Case, Fluids.

I don’t like body fluids. Mucus grosses me out. Blood makes me want to faint. I hate it when people burp. Makes me gag. And let’s not even talk about vomit. When I was a senior in college, I had no idea what I was going to do with my bachelor’s degree in biology. That major was just a stepping stone for me. I knew I didn’t want to become a doctor. I didn’t want that lifestyle. And despite being an officer in the pre-dental club, I didn’t want to be a dentist either. What else can you do with a biology degree? I sure as hell didn’t want to get a masters or a Ph.D. just to teach the...

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If You’re from Africa, Why are you White? Part 1

Growing up in Africa is a bit like getting hit by a car full of clowns, Its confusing but still funny. Putting this into perspective: My mother- 5 months preggers with me, my dad was a manager of a farm in Zimbabwe at the time, that did a bunch of things- one of which was breeding bulls. One beautiful African afternoon my parents went to go check on a new bull they traded with another farmer, s*#t well this bull apparently took one look at my dad and just lost his marbles. He charged towards the fence, broke through it and chased my parents down the road… my mother was holding her belly with me, running at full speed, and...

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The Sum of Her Parts: A Love Letter to My Daughter and Myself.

When I was a child, I loved my dolls. Sure, most girls love to play with dolls. But I think I enjoyed them more than most little girls. In fact, I played with dolls well into my tween years. While my friends were asking their parents for training bras and makeup, I was begging my mom for a new doll. No shame. Fast forward many years later, and I found myself marrying the first boy I ever kissed. I knew some day, when we were ready, we would start our own family. I saved my garter and my wedding veil to one day pass on to my future daughter. I even convinced my Abuelita to let me have her special...

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Misfit

The amount of times that I have attempted to put these particular sentiments down on the page would astound you. I went from being a prolific writer during puberty and college, to a semi-permanent sufferer of writer’s block. It’s real ladies and gents. Do you know how few people really and truly take a look in the mirror? I’d dare to say very few. When you look in the mirror what are the first things you notice? The superficial. The mundane. The things that don’t matter in the grand scheme. When you genuinely look in the mirror and into who you are, it can be quite jarring. The things you see are mixed with the skewed perception of yourself and...

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