L[ink]ed

This is part one of my newest history lesson . . . Part two will be done in a month or so. I just felt the need to incorporate more of what I love, including what makes me, me.  So, enjoy the pictures, dudes!  And FYI, yes, this is my arm (left to be precise.) 

Time Passes (Dear Mariska Hargitay)

This letter was written almost 2 years ago, but took longer to compose.  It was sent to Mariska, and until now, it has never been seen anywhere else.  This is yet another look into what makes me, me.  And the stories NEVER told.  *Picture was taken between years of memory and loss.  It was added later*

Dear Mariska Hargitay,

I am writing this letter to express how much I admire your support to the causes in today’s world, that touch so many lives.  From your Philanthropies to charities and your ability to portray such a convincing character as Detective Olivia Benson on Law & Order:  SVU, you always show such authority, conviction and truth to every facet that you tend to.

My name is Kyra.  I am 23 and a Senior at Michigan State University, majoring in English with a Concentration in Creative Writing.  I am also President of Sigma Alpha Iota International Music Fraternity’s Alpha Lambda Collegiate Chapter (here at MSU) and an actor/director/producer/set designer/playwright for Michigan State University’s Tunnel Of Oppression, which is very dear to me as well as the other positions that I hold.

I will be graduating this May and going into another area; without taking courses and that sometimes frightens me:  the thought of leaving such a beautiful and helpful community.  I guess what I’m trying to get at is, this university has been a great tool for me in my entire university career.  It helped give me a chance to thrive academically and personally.  It made resources possible, even when I didn't want them at the time.

My fright, it comes from suppressing anger and feelings, because I have always been that person that helps everyone and talks them through their problems, never discussing my own.

I am the youngest child of 17 girls and five boys (two sisters from my mom, whom I grew up with and the rest are half siblings), which means everyone is older.  Therefore most of their children were older . . . When I was young, maybe around 4 or 5, I began getting molested by one of my older nephews, and at the time, the only thing I knew was that I was uncomfortable.  They lived next door and somehow I knew I wouldn't get away from him.  This happened for a while.  A long while, and after time, I just put everything out of my mind and blocked it out.

I never told my family about those times, because I had tried blocking it so much.  Many times I would forget what happened during those years, until something triggered it.  When I was 12, the summer before entering high school, I went to visit my half siblings and their family at their house and I couldn't remember why I didn't want to be there, but my family went, and so did I.

I went to the basement to play board games and look at bikes with my younger nephews.  And as everyone left, I felt at peace - Alone, without feeling suffocated.  My older nephew came downstairs, quietly, and came up behind me and . . . It happened again, but this time I told.  I told my mom and two sisters and they became upset.  They approached my older half sister about her son.  She said he was never there.  She covered for him.  His younger brother had to tell his mom he was there AND  in the basement.  Ever since, I couldn't trust them, nor ever wanted to be around that side of the family.  And although I had told my family, it was buried and never again talked about.  Maybe it was because I was embarrassed (mostly that), or that family secrets are just that, “family secrets.”  Whatever the reason, I never mention it and always avoid conversations about those years.  Or those people.

Celebrating the Parts of Me

I have to say, researching for one of my plays I'm currently writing has given me more inspiration to learn about my heritage (I hope you enjoy the above video I found on YouTube).  Not that I was unaware of the magnificent strength in my people before beginning the research, but I still yearned for more knowledge of where I came from.  

In order for my growth as a person -- or to direct this to others -- in order for someone to understand who they are, they should try and learn where they come from.  Needless to say, school books do nothing to give truth to those people -- MY people.  I, along with many others, learned from a young age what a "great man Columbus was."  And even at a young age, just as I was skeptical of the Easter bunny, so was I about Columbus and his discovery.  

Are we part of what people think?  Or are we part of those missing links?  And if those links are too difficult to decipher, then don't we still owe it to our ancestors to continue pushing their (our) stories?  I think we should.  I think we need to know who we come from.  And although each of us are comprised of many people, we need to understand and accept those facts.  

I AM A MULTIRACIAL PERSON.  I LOVE MY HERITAGE(S).  AND I WANT TO KNOW MORE.

I will continue to support and honor MY people. Why? Because my Native roots are stronger than those weapons used against my ancestors! I believe everyone has a chance to celebrate their culture, as long as we know the truth behind their stories.

We don't celebrate Black History Month by always focusing on slaves and murder, yet for some reason, Columbus Day takes place as if NOTHING EVER happened.

In history books (mind you it’s not actual “American” history) nonetheless, people are taught this tragic lie that we are made to believe; Thanksgiving, Christopher Columbus . . . It’s as if indigenous people appeared on a separate boat, and followed Columbus to shore . . . oh, and later on, they went for a walk, captured a few animals, and all came together and broke bread, as if it were the last supper. Mind you, for some, it was. Yeah, like that even makes any sense. But then again, you can do the calculation: How can an already inhabited land, whose people are native/indigenous, be discovered by a European, masking away as a pioneer of the Amerikas? And once you solve that, I’ll ask you this: If Columbus was there when our Native people were, then didn't he in fact, witness America, instead of discovering it?

Most people, who know me, know I am a political person, and I love to debate. I, however, never force my ideologies onto the next person, because it's not fair. I simply tell my thoughts, opinions, and facts, while encouraging others to form their own.


~Kyra C.