Moving

Hi APC! I’m Harmony and I’m 18 years old. I grew up in both Harrisburg, Pennsylvania and Orlando, Florida; I’m currently in Florida, and miss the seasons like crazy. I’m of mixed-race background – my father is black and my mother is Korean-American. I’m looking forward to start school at Duke University this fall studying psychology!

Insta handle: @4armony

This piece is super important to me. I wrote this feeling my most vulnerable, in my junior year – a time when I didn’t fully believe in myself. After writing this, I had convinced myself that I was worth an immense amount, and I continued to live out my days with this mindset. This piece sparked a change and passion in me that I couldn’t foresee, and I’m so glad it did.

The windchimes jingled with the passing of another wind stream as I crossed my feet and settled further down into the tropical print of the patio chair. I was at peace – Pennsylvania spring. Content, I continued to jot down some notes as I watched a video concerning human cells and their function on a laptop. We would usually head to my grandmother’s house, a few minutes from our home, to complete my work –  a perk of being enrolled in homeschool. I worked best in this environment, the place that perfectly fit the definition of “comfort”. My grandmother was the most important person in my life; I vividly recall our weekly Sunday meetings where she would share with me endless wisdom, endless support, endless love. It was sixth grade: 2013, my last “normal” year. 

Eighth grade came about, and with this, a deep depression settled in. Every aspect of my life seemed to be spiraling downwards. I was losing many friends in my neighborhood due to a sudden announcement by my family of relocating to Florida. and I had begun to come into contact with ignorance concerning my identity, as well; this view of minorities being lesser continually affected my interactions with people my age. As a girl of color, I often encountered those who would proceed to doubt my abilities and the success I had simply because of who I was. As my competency continued to be questioned due to this, a message took root and began to play on repeat in my brain: I am worthless. I began to lose motivation, and gradually spoke my mind and contributed my ideas less and less. The major thing getting me through these depressive episodes was my grandmother and her promise that she would move down to Florida in a few years to join us.

My arrival in Florida was bittersweet;  I was missing everyone immensely already, yet the excitement of living somewhere new was not lost in me. My first day at Winter Springs was, at the very least, overwhelming. The depressive episodes that I was far from missing crept their way back. It was a cruel joke: the closest bond I had, rather than with a person, was with my deteriorating mental health. My longing to fit in with everyone had sparked another low point in my life; especially during the end of the school year, I felt as if I had no one on my side. I felt alone, and with the continued suppression of my own voice, I felt lost in who I was meant to be. My schoolwork was my escape; completing my assignments and projects gave me a sense of accomplishment and pride within myself that acted as a substitute for my sense of belonging. 

The following summer was the segway to my entrance into sophomore year. This year also began on a positive note; I had settled into school, I was making true friends, and I would often call my grandmother to update her on my life. I felt more at ease with my background in being biracial; instead of feeling subject to choose what part of me I felt I was “more” of, I was growing more comfortable in having both sides of me in the forefront of my identity. The words of encouragement I received from my grandma were the source of light warming my soul. Her gentle voice was a reminder that soon she would be living much closer to us. Unfortunately, a few days after a visit with her, she passed away. Her passing led to my ultimate low, with feelings of emptiness immediately following. I interpreted each depressive episode that came about as the end of my world, as an experience that I could never recover from. I felt as if I would be constantly stuck in this cycle of being at peace in my life and then dealing with everything crashing down. It took months of grieving, lack of understanding, and an experience for me to reach a breaking point in which I had to receive hospitalization in which I finally understood myself.

Through all of this, I have found my voice. I dream to express my newfound voice any way that I can; I strive to contribute as much as I possibly can to create a platform in which those who have been yearning to have their voice heard can do so. I have taken hold of my identity – I am not tied down to what I have struggled with in the past and the preconceptions that those may have of me. I am comforted with the knowledge that I am me; I will always have my strength and passion to hold me up. In accomplishing my goals, I am content in having the vivid image in my mind of my grandmother, looking down on me, beaming in pride. I am a strong woman of color, one who is unapologetic in the message she looks to put forward into the world. This is what keeps me going.

I am a survivor of sexual assault. I wrote this poem earlier in April, as in reflecting on my past I was feeling a little down. However, I have bounced back from my past, so I wrote this poem to show this in a sense. I hoped this would resonate with the other survivors of the world, those who have their own stories (regardless of if they are ready to share or not) and inspire those around them.