I’m a 5’1” 27-year-old Black woman with a shaved head. I make art, I study Japanese and I have my Bachelor degree in Japanese from the University of Maryland College Park. I work for a local start-up and my current income is at about $35,000/year; I work nights and weekends monitoring orders. I want my creative career to take off and be 100% of my income by time I’m 30. I have my own apartment and bills and my own car, all of which I pay out of pocket for.
Every single one of these parts of my being create possibilities for fear. Fear that I’ll be killed or raped; fear that I won’t be able to bring in more money and “move up” in life; fear that I truly wasted my time and my parents’ money with my degree; fear that I will be a perpetual source of shame for my family and community.
The truth is that I refuse to give a fuck about any of this. I’ve been through many a dark spells over the past 5 years since graduating in 2011--before that, I was a dark, hurt, weak soul trying to navigate life according to others’ commands.
Choosing to surrender my fears as often as I can has allowed me to become the Daughter of the Sun, Lainface the Power Chick, and just a Boss Bitch, really. Certain relationships have also taught me to see the fear in others: their hesitations, their indecision, their flakiness. I’ve even learned to see it in my parents to understand how they raised me and their constant resistance to who I am and my interests.
It’s all inspired by fear. As a former psychological and emotional sponge, I see how this fear has consumed me at times and took me away from my path as a creator again and again (fortunately, my Calling of sorts refused to stay quiet). Even that made me realize that somehow others have learned to silence that voice and deaden themselves to their truest potential and the most freeing levels of happiness.
This fear that I sense makes me want to disassociate from people more and more--it’s my own fear that I’ll be pulled back down into the deepest depths of self-loathing abyss by being around the fearful, those who I see as weak.
It fills me with a type of righteous yet burden sense of purpose to be the light; be a beacon for those who have become accustomed to the devouring, insatiable darkness of fear. That’s not to sound full of myself so much as I want others to feel this freedom that I feel; I believe that people can believe in themselves--I yearn to be their Kamina so that they don’t have to keep wandering longer and longer, possibly never to be found until they’re on their deathbeds.