To Be A Hurricane

I got my URL from my Abuelita. We visited her for Christmas a few years ago, and my Tia talked about the different nicknames Abuelita has for all of her grandkids. She has one she uses pretty often for me, but when I was younger she called me her Huracán–or, hurricane. I liked the idea of having a personality like a hurricane, despite what a negative impact it has on people.

Hurricanes are wind, rain, hail, heat. They have eyes and edges. They are harsh. They leave disaster in their wake.

I could see where I got that nickname as a kid.

I used to think it was beautiful in an abstract kind of way. I mostly don’t feel beautiful or like a hurricane anymore.

Recently I kind of feel like a wishing flower. I don’t know what they’re actually called. Dandelions, I’m pretty sure–but at that stage of their life where your wish comes true if you blow all their fuzzies off in one go.

What I mean is that I feel fragile. That if the wind blows too hard, all my bits will fly away.

I don’t drink. Some comments today were made to me about the fact that my not drinking has ostracized me within my frat. I thought it was just my anxiety that made me feel that way, but it turns out I am actually missing out on a part of bonding with other people.

That doesn’t change anything for me. It does make me feel like shit though.

My grades seem to improve in some places and become a disaster in others. I don’t quite feel like I have a home, or a handle on myself or my life.

I guess what I’m saying is that the wind is blowing really hard.

I guess what I’m saying is that I’m trying to be a hurricane again.



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