Who I Serve - Prose
When I was a child I railed against everything and every one
The dichotomy of wanting to be seen as good and right, but needing something wholly different then what I was presented with
Tore me in half
I can't say I regret my upbringing one bit, because I don't
The child of cycle breakers, my warrior guardians showed me what it was like to fight for a better life and to love, loyal and deep, as they did it.
When people say "I would not change what happened because it made me who I am" it sounds so cliche and...
Silly, almost
Because the point is moot
You cannot change it anyway.
But upon reflection, and over time, I have come to ascribe to the sentiment more and more. Acceptance is not just a part of it, but the whole of it
And I am whoever I wish to be, I formed by who I was and what I experienced.
It made me who I am in that I was able to See what I wanted and what I did not
To take the time to sort through what was mine to own,
And what to set down
And now, at the age I am, out of the thick of experiencing it and through the weeds of processing all that was and had to be,
I get to find myself, anew
No longer torn, for who I serve now is only me
Unconcerned with how I am Seen, and wholly concerned only with how my actions sit with me,
Myself
If there is something to rail against, I have the power to change or to leave.
If there is something I desire, I have the power to pursue it or let it go as a dream unfulfilled.
I bring the child I was with me, everywhere I go.
I show her my children
My writing
My paintings
My garden
My partner
My home
I show her my car, my bicycle, the town where I live.
I tell her about time.
It's been eleven years in this one home. Yes. Really. No, I'm not moving. I even painted walls. I planted trees. I've watched them grow.
My children have only known one home. Really, just one. Since the day they were born. And look, yes,
My partner. Same one, for eighteen years. Really.
I take her hand and I show her all these things, all these things she wanted.
And today she asked me,
In my heart
"But are you happy?"
I gave her everything she wanted that she didn't have, but who is the child inside without the person I am now?
I serve myself, yes
But not just myself of yesterday
Not just myself of today
My life is not collecting and granting the wishes made when I was young- if it were, I would be done.
My life still has one question
Are you happy?
I am.
But I must remember, and remind myself, that who I serve
Is me