Starting at a young age, I always thought tattoos were beautiful. My mother has a few and most of the people I grew up around have some too. It’s a beautiful way to etch a part of your journey onto your skin, whether that be where you’re from or in memory of someone special.
From the age of 18 onward, I have collected quite a few tattoos, around 35 or so, I haven’t counted in a while. All of them hold a significant meaning in my life. Things I would never forget and couldn’t, even if I tried. Around 10 years ago, I got a tattoo that says, “Thunder’s The Promise, Fulfillment’s The Rain.” When I got this tattoo, I was around 19 or 20 and sleeping on my mother’s couch, trying to find my grip on the world. I wanted to separate myself from the noise I never asked for, along with rain that felt like poison. I wanted to feel fulfillment.
I recall times in my life when the thunder was all I could hear, no matter how tight I closed my eyes and pressed my hands against my ears, the thunder was more powerful. No rain at all, just a loud sky raging undue terror on whoever it chose. At a certain point I chased after the lightening and roar, sat in the middle of the light show the sky made, not having a care in the world if it hurt. I knew storms would never end. Growing up in Florida it’s inevitable, but the rain didn’t feel like fulfillment, it felt like hail. I wanted something that felt impossible so this led to making wishes, often with pennies, stars and candles. Wishes that my life could be more quiet. These wishes were cast into dirty ponds, wells and on every birthday. After a while, it began feeling so silly to ask for a quiet world, because how? How could I find my escape hatch? It felt like I was only destined for the thunder and hailstorms.
When we’re young and queer in spaces that don’t promote it, where it feels more tolerated than celebrated, it’s hard to navigate. It’s even more difficult when there is a battle inside of you that knows just existing as visibly not straight in the South is a dangerous, silent protest. I never experienced blatant overt or violent acts of homophobia but I can feel the microaggressions, whether that be staring too long or moving from my vicinity entirely. These subtle acts would be missed by straight people but queer people know exactly what it feels like. There is already this gut-wrenching feeling that we don’t belong and then you add the messiness of living in chaos. This leaves us with nowhere really to exist without being made to feel like a nuisance.
My fulfillment has come slowly and has looked different over periods of time. One way was traveling alone to places I had never been. I think that’s where it really started. I never went anywhere alone, always had someone around whether that be one of my sisters or friends. I felt very uncomfortable with the idea of traveling or being alone. This act of adventuring alone started with drives here and there, then transitioned to flying to Denver for the first time and seeing a totally different way of life. I was visiting a former girlfriend that had two moms, and I was mind blown about how normal it seemed in this part of the world I never touched. Family dinners, outings and movie nights. For the first time I witnessed queer love in real time. This gave me hope I never thought would touch my world. As that relationship dissolved, I gained a desire to invest in my self-love and I began taking myself on dates to immerse myself in unknown territory. I knew it would strengthen me. I even spent some holidays alone, though it was sad sometimes, it showed me how powerful I was alone. The hail that was falling on me was loneliness and not by choice, there was always someone around but the rain I found was finding comfort in my own peace and solitude.
My teenage self, that version of me looking for fulfillment, would have never guessed where the chase had taken me. My partner and I went as far as Merida, Mexico to recharge our batteries and reconstruct what we want our world to feel like. Nineteen-year-old me would be blown away with not only where we ended up but what more we endured to get here. I’ve slept in more king-sized beds than I could imagine since leaving everything I’ve known behind. I bear witness to so much silence, I am constantly having to find comfort in the lack of chaos. Life is sun showers and I couldn’t have painted a better picture. I hate to say the hail was worth the healing, but in some ways it was. The thunder will never leave but the rain now washes all the worries away and gives hope to new, to beginning, again.
As always it has taken so much love for self and commitment to healing what I did not create, to find myself in my dream place to live with a beautiful being and an unimaginable future ahead. Please know that the voyage will have rocky oceans, hail and thunder that you will feel down your spine but it will all be worth the outcome. Love yourself and those that show up for you, always.
Bryana Saldana is an Afro-Latina poet born and raised in Orlando. Saldana had her first published poem through “Women Who Roar.” Saldana’s pronouns are She/Her/They.
