Rematriation Diaries

The truth is returning to the motherland has been a mother fucking rollercoaster. I came to experience liberation, as well as heal wounds of colonization and migration. Witnessing the colonization of Cabarete is breaking me and simultaneously deepening my values like nothing I have experienced before. I have tried to leave, creeanme. But this is where I am for now. I don’t know why but it this is where I am living this chapter of rematriation. 

When I first arrived I was powerful, vocal, grounded. I came home to respirar from U.S. violence. I knew that the violence existed in my mother land too and I didn’t arrive filled with hope of what “change” I was going to bring. None of that savior complex that I once held. I arrived filled with truth, facts, history, and love for my people. I thought I returned prepared. But nothing really prepares you to witness and breathe colonial violence. 

So the reality has been different. After speaking out loud these truths, facts, and history without the armor of solidarity, me he estado gastando.

So I started becoming silent and complicit. I have made more concessions than my body and heart can hold. I more often than not live outside of my truth. Bonding with people whose values and mine don’t align. Pretending I don’t know but I do know. Hiding who I am, what my life’s work is. Repressing, repressing, repressing. My intuition is cloudy but I can still hear the whispers of the truth. 

I got to a place where I don’t even recognize myself. Nodding to fucked up comments... 

“I am not this person” I say to myself, “pero que puedo hacer”, I say to myself. If I speak up, can I survive the brunt of what comes of the truth? Defend my people or mind my business and keep my “peace”? Ultimately, it still eats me up. 

Returning to myself has been difficult. Putting the breaks to the repression. Acknowledging the rage, the sadness, the despair, the desperation of every day wanting to tell my people to wake up. But I got tired. Very quickly, actually. Ha, what a disgrace to my radical ancestors. So I took a break alongside my people and went to sleep, too. Ignoring and leaning into the “bliss” as much as I could. Connecting to the cognitive dissonance sponsored joy. But this shit is a rollercoaster. 

I can sense my bravery returning. I want to continue the process of breaking up with oppression and figuring out what my organizing work looks like here. I know it’ll continue to be a trial and error process.