Hola, niña. Hello, little girl. How have you been? You don’t know
me, but I am you. I know you won’t understand since you’re only three years old,
but I have to tell you a tale or two. Unfortunately, this world is cruel and
you won’t have anyone to trust completely except yourself. That is why I am
here. To let you know that I care and love you unconditionally. Somebody
should.
You love to listen to
music and dance. You like to eat, play and run. You play with paper dolls and
pretend to be a housewife, with your toy ironing board and the rusted toy pots
and pans that your grandma handed down to you. You ride your tricycle back and
forth in that little balcony with the wrought iron bars, back and forth, back
and forth like a little mouse in a cage. At times maternal figures laugh at you
when you cry. You will be left alone and locked up a couple of times and will
remember that the rest of your life, even though you’re now only three.
You will hold in so
many thoughts and feelings just to avoid being alone, but you’ll be lonely
still. People who say they care will tell you to just get over it, to quit
being so sensitive. But you were born that way; it’s not your fault. You won’t
want them mad at you, but they’ll be mad at you anyway. Even those closest to
you won’t really know all of you. Keep it inside as to not offend or hurt
anyone. They’d be so surprised what will go through your mind at times. They
can’t handle it. You’ll find refuge in strangers, only temporarily as you meet
them on the way. You won’t disappoint or frustrate them, at first, because they
just don’t expect a certain behavior from you. They don’t know who you are or
who you’re supposed to be, and neither do you. Well, you’re only three.
You will be forced to
believe in what they want you to believe. Fairy tales, guilt trips, submission,
suppression, poverty, lack, abandonment… all part of the cross you must carry.
Until the day you start to get old and gray and finally try to set yourself
free, but still dragging the broken chains around your ankles. You will be shamed
for being yourself, for your color, your size, your hair, your language, your
gender, your soft heart. But you are so cute, so pretty, but you will never
know that. You don’t know that now, no one is telling you now, even though you
are only three.
So many heartbreaks,
so many lies… You will be seen as naïve and
stupid for trusting so much, for having faith, for expecting the promises to be
fulfilled. But nothing is certain in this life, not your next breath. You won’t
know who will be by your side today, and then forget about you tomorrow. You
really want to believe that people have good intentions. They mean well. They
do, don’t they? Why am I asking you? You’re only three.
You won’t have a
chance to grow and bloom like the flower that you really are. When your years
are running out, you will try to catch up and make up and grow up, don’t give
up, just get up, move up, shake it up. With all your pains you will keep going,
groaning, hoping, stomping, blaring, caring, crying, dying. You will feel like you’re
running out of time, but you wanted to do so much more. Oh, I shouldn’t tell
you any of this. Poor you, you’re only three.
It’s so sad to think
that you will waste so much time taking care of people who don’t deserve you.
You will spend so many years following a book that is full of contradictions,
filtered through men who boast of wisdom, flawed men who cheat and lie. Your
youth will be gone by the time you wake up and realize how foolish you were.
You were born into that system. I wish I could take you away from there now
that you are three.
I can only hold you
and tell you that I love you. I am glad that you are alive. I think you’re
truly amazing, strong, funny, clever, inquisitive, kind… and lovely. Not in the
way the world sees beauty. You don’t look European. You look African and Taino.
Yes, you have the big lips, big nose, big butt and big hair that others will call
ugly. Plus your cinnamon skin that the sun loves to toast and darken. If you
can look pass that and see yourself, really see yourself, you will see what a
beauty you are. Yet, right now no one cares what you feel about yourself, about
anything. After all, you’re only three.
Just know this one
thing… You are so much more than you realize. You will get glimpses of your own
greatness once in a while. You will half jokingly brag about yourself and then
laugh at such an outrageous claim. But it’s true. You really are that awesome.
If you want to have faith in anything, believe in you. There are so many
wonderful things you can do, so many gifts that will be left uncovered. But for
now, go back to drinking your warm milk, watching cartoons and looking at
books. I will always be here; you will always be with me, my pretty girl who’s
three.
