paolaovandoperaza
What does it mean to feel. What does it mean to allow yourself to feel? Who is allowed to feel?
I could spend the next hour purely jotting down questions about our emotional states of being, but I doubt that it would be productive. Over time, I have come to find that overanalyzing the “why” of an emotion can be but an escape from addressing the effects feeling. That is to say, to give yourself the grace of feeling your feelings. So for these written pieces, I use writing as a walking exercise of the mind. Imagining that going in and out between conscious and subconscious is a simple meander through space. Knowing that walking and talking is a meditative process. A trance that opens up wounds left untouched.
sitelessness (2023).
La Libertad, El Salvador.
She did not know where she was going.
She had tried to give birth at home to a doula.
She had spent all night in pain.
Wanting, wishing to do it on her own.
They rushed her to the hospital. No one would take her. She was too far gone. The operation too complicated.
A private hospital would not do the surgery until she and her partner agreed to pay the fee.
She stayed in the hospital. He searched the city in need of money to borrow.
She gave birth. A beautiful baby girl. He got the money.
Feliz Viaje le Desea la República de El Salvador.
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Douglas, Arizona.
It’s September. We’ve only been here for three days. My uncle is coming to pick us up.
I don’t know where we are going.
___________, California.
___________, California.
___________, California.
___________, California.
___________, California.
___________, California.
___________, California.
Heartbroken. Naive.
Too scared to dream.
Too scared of doing nothing.
___________,California.
___________,California.
___________,California.
Too Many Questions, Too Many Thoughts. Not Enough Feeling (2024).
Daunting is the state of hopelessness. Daunting too is knowing that you are stuck in this state of mind, knowing that you are paralyzed by worry, paralyzed by fear, and feeling as though you are floating in space. How do you get out of a mental state that is far too familiar? Too comfortable. How do you force yourself out of this narrow perception, to admit to yourself, “I am hopeless”. To you, it is not a momentary feeling but rather, a fact. A reality. It is not positive nor negative. It just is.
Is that wrong?
To sit, wonder, and admit to yourself where you sit in the world. What you were born into, what boxes you have to fill. To understand that you did not choose this AND to come to terms with it. Where you come from cannot be changed, how you navigate the world is up for debate.
I was born from my mother womb, in a country that had limited resources, in a time where it was difficult to want more from the place you are meant to call home.
My dad dreamed.
I was saddened by having to leave you behind. You were so young, had just turned two years old. I could not make the decision on my own and so I asked you whether or not I should leave home. You ecstatically said yes. I said I would be gone for a long time. You said it was okay. So I left.
If I put myself in his shoes, was he hopeful? Or did he have to convince himself that leaving was the best choice for us? Was he hopeless? Was he running from his cage?
My dad has a tendency of trusting people. Trusting that they will help him. Assuming that people will “do the right thing”. But the disappointment that came after people did not follow through — seeing the disappointment in his face — was heart breaking. Watching his pain and watching him act as though he wasn’t worried about paying rent or paying debts was upsetting. Watching him be hopeful was enough to make me hopeless.
Living within hopelessness became a way of life. Don’t trust, don’t dream, don’t expect anything. It makes life easier. Coast. Figure things out as you go. Don’t hope. It makes life easier.
For a long time there was nobody. I didn’t speak, I didn’t make mistakes. I did what I was told and hid in a very hot pink room. There, I was content. I didn’t exist in reality. I existed only in my imagination. A place where I could be myself.
No judgement. Just play.
As I would leave my frozen state of daydreaming, I would feel the dread come in. The pain too unbearable to feel and the blackhole of hopelessness too relieving, too addictive. I did not want to wake up from my dreams. I wanted to spend life stuck in imagination. The only place where freedom was guaranteed. But, the numbness eventually wears off and your dreams slowly fade into forgotten memories.
fiveseconds (2025).
A three minute walk, worries amuck, and no headphones -
the co-op coffeeshop that saw me come in and out in all the emotional states, and an excuse to be outside;
I sit on the sidewalk, lean next to a tree, watch the cars pass by.
silence. except its not silent.
The wind conducts the leaves, guiding them, the gentle music fills my ears. The wind sweeps my hair from one side to the other, synchronized with the movement of the leaves, brushing against my face any chance it gets.
There is no point in stopping it. I let the wind do with it as it wishes, I let it do as it pleases. I let my hair be free.
I can’t look people in the eye anymore, I’m afraid of what they will see. I look at the ground, hoping not to catch anyone’s eyes. But the children, they always smile at me. They always wave hello. And then there is no excuse in the world for me not to wink and smile back at them. It makes them giggle. It makes me giggle. And for those five seconds that we are smiling at each other, everything is okay.
You are looking at me, I’m looking at you. What do you see?
I look up at the leaves and watch them sway,
slowly I remember the weight of my worries.
I can’t do it, I tell the tree. I raise my palm to its trunk and ask it,
please,
hold it with me,
I need your help.
I leave my palm on its trunk and I stand in silence until the feeling passes.
thank you.
I go back into the coffee shop, grab my order, and as I pass the tree,
I stop, take a deep breathe,
and keep walking.