Twenty Nine

By Hera Barrameda

 

A few years ago, my astrologer asked me to expect the effects of my ‘Saturn Return’ – that moment the planet Saturn returns to its exact same position on the day I was born. Seen as auspicious as it only happens once every 29 years and has long symbolized the ushering of a new chapter. That time, I wondered whether my daughter will find me weird to have even relied on the magic of these things. These days, she tells me how she’s so lucky God gave her a ‘crazy’ mom, so perhaps by now it is a norm for her.

It takes 29 earth years for Saturn to finish one revolution around the sun. And in those 29 years Saturn was busy, my life spun around in circles too.

At twenty-nine, I have raised a child alone for almost 6 years. So the hugs, kisses, loving and gifts were served twice the normal dosage. In my mind, there is no better gift than the realization the human heart can love beyond what the brain can perceive possible.

At twenty-nine, I have died many times more than most people. But I wouldn’t learn how it’s like to stay awake if I didn’t feel the urge to stay asleep.  I worked long hours and often left my daughter for work travels. Oftentimes I get guilty, but every time she tells me how she wants to be just like me, I die even more — but this time, of immense gratefulness.

At twenty-nine, I have lived many times than most people, but only because of the many times I had to fight for my own resurrection. I have the knack for tearing people’s walls apart, but only because I have successfully destroyed the walls I have built for myself. I have developed a fondness for the simplest of things, yet in the process honed the gift to manifest a life that is plenty. I have learned that I am as little as the things that irritate me and as large as the love I can give. I have witnessed myself find joy in stillness, only to be caught off-guard by the stillness of apathy. But by now I guess I kinda know that’s just how life works. You gotta taste a bit of hell in order to pay attention.

At twenty-nine, I recall how five years ago I had to choose between selfishness and selflessness. I chose to be selfish, to be whole, so I may then raise my daughter with a love that is larger than life and ultimately pave the way to a future that is only life-giving.

Every day of my life has been devoted to being the best I can be, so she may be inspired to make the most out of her life. I embraced my fears, that she may be inspired to find that graceful courage needed to tame her dragons. I laughed more, that she may find joy in the littlest. I prayed more, worried less, cussed without guilt, forgave (and realized I have not fully forgiven), ate spicy food (God knows I was not born for that), danced salsa all days of the week, binged guiltlessly on Netflix, bought way more books than I can manage to read — all so she may find beauty in doing the same (her own version of course).

I have learned that in selfishly loving myself, I am able to selflessly love her.

That day years ago I wrote her this exact note: Fly my love, fly to undiscovered heavens, break your own walls, tweak your hairstyle any day of the week, do things that make your heart sing and your mind tremble, seek resonance in people, explore your dark alleys, succeed in properly falling in love — and when you fail, do not worry one bit, for you can be sure you can fall right smack in my arms and in the fullness of God’s embrace.

That day years ago, Saturn returned to remind me to carry on.