Si nos ponemos tristes, podríamos estar tristes para siempre. Translated from Spanish, this means, “If we allow ourselves to be sad, we could be sad forever.”
I am always angry, but I will never tell anyone that out loud. Anger is the emotion we feel ashamed to have. I don’t know about anyone else, but I cannot express anger well. I have been taught that anger is an unproductive emotion, so it’s better just to tuck it away in what my family calls “a box” and just let it fade. As it sounds, this is more unproductive than anger itself.
While my sleeves are patched with my heart all over, my skin is tough from needles and bruises. And as hard as I try, I can’t fake a convincing smile, but I can stare down glaring red alerts, warning that my life is in danger. I am sensitive. I feel my emotions hard and tend to express them even harder. I’ve sobbed while eating “chicken and two sides” in Mac, and I’ve uncontrollably laughed to myself on the treadmill in the Plex.