My Knight in Shining Cement

“...and that visibility which makes us most vulnerable is that which also is the source of our greatest strength.”  

-Audre Lorde
 
It is like marking your hand print on wet cement on the sidewalk. I have found myself caught in a train wreck kind of predicament, in which I am caught under this immense battle I was completely oblivious and unaware that I was even tackling.  

The thing about cement is that it is a layer of stability. It paves the sidewalks acting as a foundation protecting the ground people walk on to get to where they need to be and back. It is sturdy enough to carry the weight placed upon it.

Just like cement, my skin is a layer of stability. It paves my vulnerability acting as a foundation protecting the heart that I constantly worry people could walk on in order to get where they need to be and back. However, while cement is sturdy enough to carry the weight placed upon it, cement has the ability to crack. 

That is just it. 

People have found ways to slip through the cracks and under my skin, my skin that I thought was as groundbreaking as steel. And while that realization haunts me, I have acknowledged that rather than wearing skin of steel, I wear an armor made of cement. When it comes down to it, maybe the mere ability for one to be able to have the strength to slip through the cracks in the cement, the ability to get under my skin, maybe that is what makes relationships worth holding onto.  

Therefore, my conclusion to this battle is not the arrival of my knight in shining armor, but rather embracing the knight in shining cement that I wear every single day. My skin is thick, but my heart is thicker and maybe it is okay if people slip through the cracks of my skin that I have paved and find that out for themselves. After all, by wearing the knight in shining cement all it takes is repaving the sidewalks to smooth the cracks. 

I do not need a hero to get me out of this train wreck of a predicament. Adapting my cracked skin that faces the chances of people walking on it, in order to get to where they need to be and back, and the markings of hand prints on wet cement and on my heart, that is the hero in itself: my knight in shining cement.

Balloons like Laughter, Mother like Daughter

I wrote this paper a little over a year ago and I think I am finally ready to share it.

      xx Ella Marie Cajayon

Balloons Like Laughter, Mother Like Daughter

            As light as balloons, colorfully floating, perpendicular and out of tune, that is the universally renowned sound of what could only be: laughter. That is what I hear when I recall this day.  Laughter cued from America’s Funniest Home Videos; laughter cued from my sister, Anica, my mother, and I. There we were. Dressed in our pajamas, pastel and soft to the touch, warming up our skin and our souls, cuddling side-by-side in a blanket. There we were. 

At this very moment I thought to myself, this is what a mother-daughter relationship should feel like.  Ordinarily, I believed I was as almighty as the queen of England. I was fourteen, independent, and the queen of England, and I did not need my mom. Before this moment, space had been growing between us. 

            I was on my parents’ computer playing around on MySpace, secluding myself to my own little world where I was untouchable. As the queen of England would remove her crown, I removed my headphones; I had snapped back to reality. While I got up, my mom asked me if I would like to stay with her and stick around for a little longer. Little did I know, this request would stick around for a lot longer than I had ever expected. There we were.

            But here I was, falling for her proposal to spend quality time with her teenage daughter. Her proposal won me over with her smile, that is, the smile I inherited from her. Looking back, she must have known that her smile would nail it; she must have known it would comply me to fall awry in doing things for her. Why I’d figure so? Like mother like daughter, we share that winning smile. That’s just it. No matter how deeply I let my mom in, she naturally knew me and I naturally knew her. No matter how measurable our bond was, whether as tight-knit as Lorelai and Rory on Gilmore Girls, or as distant as Earth and Pluto, we were still mother and daughter. Hence, like mother like daughter, there we were.

“- it’s all that matters”

I sat next to her on her bed, feeling reluctant, foreign and unusual. Without hesitation she adjusted the blanket and without hesitation, my sister, Anica, and I snuggled inside. Lying side by side, I could smell her. In fact, to this day I can still smell her and the entirety of her room. Her scent unreachable, intangible, but I will leave it at a distinct sweetness. 

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Last time I can recall a time when I had not felt reluctant, foreign and unusual to the thought of spending time with my mom, ironically enough, held a similar setting. My mom was expecting a girl the following winter, which consequently led us to browsing through a baby name book. On the first page displayed the A’s and each name was decorated with pink glitter letters. With each name we read, the idea of one of those names actually portraying a future being, a future sister, seemed impossible to imagine. However, the light bulb lit up for both of us when we came across the pink glitter letters that read the name: Anica.

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I was 7 years old when Anica was born; Anica was 7 years old when this all occurred. All being the three of us, together. 

Anica was on the edge of bed, which resolved to my mom entertainingly distorting her face and cracking jokes about Anica falling off the bed. While joking around, my dog, Jack, was sleeping on the floor by the bed. As the laughter amplified, due to my mom’s joke overlapping America’s Funniest Home Videos, it was no surprise that the infamous Jack awoke. There we were.

I must say, if a video camera had recorded this very moment, I would have easily submitted it to America’s Funniest Home Videos. That moment right there was truly a sight to see. 

“- to be happy”

            As light as balloons, the laughter colorfully afloat, perpendicular and out of tune, took off and landed. There we were. Dressed in our pajamas, pastel and soft to the touch, warming up our skin and our souls, cuddling side-by-side in a blanket. And as I stood up and got off the bed to leave, my mom, without hesitation, spoke from across the room, “Goodnight Ella, I love you.” And I turned around, smiled to myself with the same winning smile as my mom, and replied that I love her too. There we were.

At this very moment, even the queen of England thought to herself that this is what a mother-daughter relationship should feel like.  

The next day a package arrived on my front doorstep. In the package held a book. In the book held this:

This book was a surprise graduation gift from my mom. This book arrived the day my mom passed away.

“- to enjoy your life”

These words assure me that it will always be like mother like daughter, because these words assure me that like mother like daughter we will always be.