Letter # 1 (Jan. 5)
Jan. 5: J.J.M.A.J.B.S
I’m grateful for Us.
I started 2020 with Us.
7 of Us to be exact.
(Kaytranada playing softly in the background, just for ambience)
Sharing food and entertaining ourselves with a game of monopoly, a game in which we wouldn’t have to worry about navigating the insidious sludge that anti-Us discrimination has introduced into our lives.
We were able to just buy shit. Property. Black LGBTQ+ owned things.
Yes, rent was still on our minds sometimes, and yes we did pay people.
But I ain’t even stress that because I knew where the money was going (to Us). And ultimately I was certain that if any of us needed help or a bail out, the community would rise. And she did. We shared. How much you need? I got you. Oh, you tired of being the banker? I got you.
We were all human. All equals.
We served each other drinks. Passed around catfish. And engaged with one another from a place of peace and joy. There was no anger, just laughter and happiness.
And in the end a Black Trans Woman ended up on top, which means we all won.
During that 6-hour game of monopoly, I didn’t count the minutes. I didn’t long to be somewhere else. I was there. Fully present. And I realized how easy it was to be fully present, and to breathe when I am surrounded by flowers. So, Imma keep this same energy. I will intentionally put myself in spaces in which there are only flowers. Spaces that don’t require me to expend precious energy on defending and/or explaining my humanity. And when I struggle to find such spaces, I’ll create them.
I just wanna play.
I deserve these things...and so much more. We all do.
By the way, I am 100% certain that game only lasted 6 hours because we kept offering one another assistance. We extended the game; We extended our lives. And with even more time, more flowers will bloom. Surround yourself with flowers, you'll breathe better.
Cheers to a fab New Year's day gathering with: black eyed peas. cabbage. greens. cornbread. Us. catfish:optional (but strongly recommended). And ham if you want it.
The light isn’t always at the end of the tunnel. Sometimes The light is walking through the tunnel. The light wrote this. The light is reading this now.
I love us for real,