Some good realizations arrived in my mind this morning while preparing for work. I watched yet another Che Guevara video to the song written for him combined with photos highlighting every aspect of his life. He accomplished so much during the relatively short span of time he was here……….it still amazes me. Thinking about this, something finally clicked into place. One of those moments when you realize you knew this all along, but the truth of it was buried under the intentional confusion of your upbringing. How simple these magical moments are!
As I watched again the many, many images of my father, I suddenly realized why I was brought to Canada. Even the United States would not have been far enough away from the influence of his memory, clearly indicated by the captured moments of his life. Even though it became dangerous for anyone in South America to show support for Che Guevara during the years following his death, they could not stop the millions of people world wide from expressing their love for him. In Calgary, Alberta, Canada the name Che Guevara did not garner much attention, at least not in my world. Had I remained in South America, or even had I been brought to the United States, his memory would not have been buried. The truth of who I am would have been very difficult to ignore in a place where his presence was strongly felt. I would have continued feeling his presence through the people who loved and supported him. Instead, I was brought to a place of isolation where there would be little chance of me seeing his face or hearing his name. It is so much easier to control someone if they forget who they are.
In my case it was fear which kept me from holding onto my identity. They taught me to hate who I was and who my parents were, through acts of violence to my person. Is it any wonder there lingers still the idea it is a threat to be myself?
Somehow knowing the reason I was brought to Canada being connected to ensuring I would forget my father, gives me comfort. I suppose it is simply because it is another point confirming the truth of my journey. Now as I have the freedom to look at his face everyday I realize the strength it gives me and I will not let them break me again. How different my life would have been had I been able to remain in a world where his name was not a curse, did not promote fear or hate. This understanding makes me more determined to do better, be a better person, care more, speak my truth. The more I believe in who I am, the more of him can be seen in me. This was the lesson I learned while in Ecuador. This is the space I must also attain here…….everywhere. This is the great challenge, because here his spirit does not live in every home, is not felt on every road one walks each day. Here he is a distant memory with only a minority understanding the impact he had on the world. Here, I must become his voice, which is also my voice; this is why I had to return. In order to fully heal, as is often the case for victims of extreme abuse, one must return to the place they were beaten down to understand just how far they have moved away from that source of manipulation. To maintain ones strength in the very place your life was stolen from you, makes you whole – knowing you survived is not always enough. It is the ghosts you must face in order to truly understand what you lost so it can be reclaimed. To not be afraid of who you were before the trauma, the ultimate goal.
They say a child who is adopted takes on the physical characteristics of those who raise him/her developing similar expressions as they mimic those they become close to. I understand this because I was told I looked like my adopted sister, or adopted father, even developing the ski slope nose they often reminded me of. The more distance I created between us, the less I looked like them. No longer under their influence I began developing a sense of who I am inside rather than absorbing the qualities of those I learned to accept as family.
Since returning from Ecuador, I have changed, sometimes not recognizing the woman staring back at me from the mirror. I see my father in my expressions or perhaps it is simply the the fact I am resonating with the energy of his presence. It is as though I can feel the shattered pieces of my spirit reuniting, becoming whole. I begin to recognize the lost girl inside the woman I have become – she is timid, yet strong, beautiful. The beauty is not so much shown in my external features, rather is is a glow radiating from the inside. This is what it means to fully accept the truth of who you are I believe. This is the beauty we all have. I was taught to be ashamed of such thoughts, but how can it be wrong to accept the beauty of God in ourselves? We are lost and easily manipulated if we lose the connection to that beauty, to the source of our existence.
For so long I was taught to be ashamed of my birthright, my heritage and all its beauty. Seeing the enormous impact my father had on so many as each day I look at the many photos and video clips of him, helps me to peel back all those layers of shame and quilt laid upon me. The burden of all their hate no longer can reside on my shoulders.
