to resist is to always come undone. it is to almost ask “why?” in a sea of “that’s how it’s always been”. but, why? it is to take the risk to imagine. to imagine oneself into existence. to unlearn the first words that explained to you how your grandfather long after the war– he did not understand– still hits your now ailing grandmother. it is to speak a language other than violence. it is to rewrite the story of love– an idea that is revolutionary. to be whoever you are becomes an act of resistance. sometimes.
but how am i to be if the language i speak came to me in a bomb envelope? how can i speak of these things in a language that gave orders for my people to be thrown out at sea? i can never tell this story in the midst of unburied spirits begging to speak to gods who understand.
i will learn to resist in a tongue that is mine. i will imagine. imagine a world where our dying is no longer unmourned.