Dear God, (July 4th, 2007)
Opening my boxes of stuff from Uruguay is hard, not just because of the memories, but mostly because it forces me to come to grips with the old me. The me who was so stubborn, angry and rebellious. The me who talked back and was disrespectful to my parents. It’s as if I took the old me and tried to lock it in the closet when I got here. Coming to the US was sort of a chance to start over, to try to be someone different, someone better. I’ve been able to keep the skeleton locking the closet for quite some time now. Almost long enough to completely forget about who I used to be.
But now, all the stuff is back here. The pictures, the journals, all of it. Now I can close my eyes and I’m back in Uruguay, talking back to Mom. Being disobedient, disrespectful. It’s as if the closet door is slowly creaking open; after being unlocked by the key I thought I threw away long ago. Any moment now, out will step the skeleton--what’s left of the old me. I’ll have to take it on--head on. There’s no way I can possibly fight the skeleton by myself, God. I need Your help. Help me face my past head on and beat it to the ground; bury it. I don’t ever want to have to face it again. Help me kill it, once and for all.