"You brought me back to life and filled my lungs with air, rescuing me from the brink of death."
His whisper wraps around me like a gentle embrace, filling me with a sense of euphoria and pulling me into a state of bliss.
"Your love is my lifeline."...
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Aaliyah
I turn off the water and step out of the warm, steamy shower. I grab my fluffy towel and begin to dry off, enjoying the comforting sensation of the soft fabric against my skin. Once I am completely dry, I wring my hair out with the towel before wrapping it around my body.
I catch a glimpse of myself in the foggy mirror and can't help but smile. My hair is still dripping wet, but I don't mind. I love the way it curls and bounces when it is damp.
I admire my flushed skin from the hot water, and I am oddly reminded of when someone asked me "what I was" for the first time when I was a child.
I simply told them that my mom is white and my dad is black. Questions about my race and ethnicity became a frequent and frustrating occurrence. People often make assumptions about my identity, assuming that I am Latina without asking me due to my skin tone. It is frustrating to constantly feel like I am being put into a box and reduced to one aspect of my identity as people try to make sense of my mixed heritage.
But to me, it's just a normal part of who I am. My curly hair and mixed skin tone is a unique combination of my parents' features, a physical representation of my diverse background. And I love it. It is a reminder that I am more than just one race, that I am a beautiful blend of two cultures.
I grab my wide-toothed comb to gently detangle my curls, being careful not to pull or break them. After my hair is detangled, I scrunch in some curl-enhancing cream and let it air dry as I finish getting ready.
I am startled as knocking resounds loudly around the tiny bathroom. "Hurry up! I need to blow dry my hair!" Savannah yells, causing me to roll my eyes.
Three girls living in an apartment with one bathroom can be extremely difficult at times. But hey, it was the cheapest option on the market, so I can't complain.
"Almost done!"
Feeling satisfied and refreshed, I grab my makeup bag and open the door to find Savannah standing there with her arms crossed.
"Stalker."
"Bathroom hog."
I walk past her to Sora's bedroom so that she can do my makeup. It was the night of the concert, so all three of us girls are getting ready. Sora is a highly skilled make up artist who is pursuing a career in the fashion industry, which perfectly aligns with her talent. She is my go-to choice when it comes to someone doing my makeup since I'm extremely bad at it.
I knock on her door lightly, "can I come in?" I ask, and she immediately responds with a yes.
Opening the door, the familiar sweet scent of her perfume enters my nostrils. Her walls are painted a soft shade of purple, with posters of her favorite music artists and quotes from inspirational women.
Her bed is neatly made, with a fluffy comforter and pillows in shades of purple and yellow. A desk sits in the corner, adorned with pictures of us and colorful trinkets. I can see her love for books in the overflowing bookshelves and the cozy reading nook in the corner. Her room is a reflection of her warmth and creativity.
