By Juniper Cassaway
In a weird way, everything is circular. Everything is round. Everything makes sense when coming from the people in my life who make the most sense. My parents never made sense. I felt like I was on this strange timeline of girl and academic, and that was the only thing that mattered. Girl, because that meant daughter, that meant my mother’s daughter, that meant my mother’s mother’s daughter. Academic, because that meant success, that meant showing homeschooled success, that meant showing Black success, that meant showing female success, that meant showing my parents’ success. I didn’t want to be on a line because that meant parading in front of the people who had opinions about me and what I should be. But for me, everything is round. Everywhere I go is a circle. Every person is a ball of good. Every topic is a sphere. Circle, because I will always know where I have been. Round, because that means I can revisit everything that I’m experiencing. Ball, because all this will come back to me eventually. Sphere, because I turn everything over in my head until I get it, until it finally makes sense to me. That’s why my parents never made sense to me. Because they were on a line and I was in a circle. I am in a circle. What I do is a circle. My gender is a circle. I am a circle.
Currently residing in Baton Rouge