As summer comes to an end, I’ve come to accept that I will never truly know “where I’m from”.
As I step into the pools of Temperance, this knowledge comes with an awakening and an understanding that I haven’t lost my identity simply because I don’t know which country my birth father lays claim to. I am a Black woman, full of excellence and proud to be of a lineage that far supersedes today’s culture dynamics. The coil of my hair, and the golden tone of my melanin is all the identity I need.
At the beginning of the month I went to my first official therapy session as I wanted help to find closure with respect to finding peace in the decision that I am not going to search for my biological father. I came out of that first session with a fresh view, and a renewal in self.
I am of Africa. I am of the diaspora. I am of an ancestry that is beautiful and complex. And while I proudly identify as a Black Canadian, I get to dance and weave my way through the tapestry that is our heritage. Our lineage as a whole has suffered from generational trauma and colonization. My hope, as I explore AfroCulturalism, is to connect with those traveling the path of the healing and unifying granddaughters of Africa.
Folklore, divination and ritual are my mediums of choice, knowing these layers of ancestry run deep, slowly resurfacing.
Chasing Duende, with a pocket full of starDust