Self-governance as an antidote to fear

I’ve been writing about the lessons that Death has taught me since Death stole the safety of his love and companionship, recast the past we’d built together as a loop of painful remembrance, pulverized present and future plans, and broke me into pieces. Since it seeped underneath my skin like tattoo ink. Since it branded me — a permanent invader. Death took the man I chose over my country, my family, the everydayness of my native language, food that is its own kind of home. It happened eight years ago, 30 days after we learned he had pancreatic cancer and one day after Halloween, our daughter’s favorite holiday. I see the lessons now because now I am rebuilt. I have assembled myself as the person I need to be to live under the circumstances forced upon me. I am the master of myself, sovereign over my body, mind and the life I create every day. I pay my own bills.

I am free to make my decisions, careful and mindful of others, but free to decide nonetheless. This week, I chose to stare at the pictures of a 5-year-old in a bunny hat and Spider-Man backpack detained by federal agents. I chose to watch the video of the ICU nurse killed by federal agents. I chose to look at the man, a naturalized U.S. citizen like me, violently shoved against a wall by federal agents. “Hearing that you have an accent, I have reason to believe you are not born of this country,” one of the agents said. (For the record, it’s born in this country.)

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My line of work forces me to be immersed in the news cycle, but I still have to choose to engage emotionally, and I choose to engage emotionally. I am an immigrant who chooses to care. I am an American who chooses to care. My origin isn’t a crime. My accent isn’t a crime. My words are a statement of my facts. When Death thought to control me, to force me into submission, to transform me into an angry and perennially sad person and silo my pain within, I chose to fight back. I chose self-governance. I chose freedom.

Don’t turn away. Don’t surrender.

With love and purpose always,

Fernanda