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For 2022, I Just Want to Survive
In a year that was tough on everyone, I am just glad to be here.
On Christmas Day, I got a series of text messages from my estranged father. After a short exchange that didn’t go well, I blocked his number from my phone. It was yet another loss in an emotionally fragile year. On New Year’s Eve, I watched Encanto and silently cried through Luisa’s song. By the time I get to Isabela’s number, I broke, silently questioning where I went wrong with falling short of my father’s high expectations. I’m not Steven Spielberg in female form. In fact, I sorta failed in my Hollywood career. I’m not a perfect daughter. I’m not some undiscovered genius who can perform calculations in her head. I question the noblesse oblige philosophy that defined my childhood and teen years. I’m openly feminist. I married the wrong man who “holds me back.” I have been overweight my entire adult life and according to my father, cared little for my appearance. But mostly, I have “some unlikeable ways.”
Mom’s watching Encanto with me. I’m taking time off to help her recover from surgery. She turns to me and says “I see you and I love you.”
This year, I don’t feel like promising to lose the same 30 pounds I said I was going to lose for the past 15 years. I’m not going to promise to practice my French or Spanish daily. I’m not…