I return from my 4th Congress physically exhausted, but awakened in mind, heart & spirit. Re-connecting with kasamas and meeting the new, witnessing the growth of our movement by the number of faces I do not recognize. If I’m honest, I tell you that at first it scares me, particularly when noting which faces are no longer around. But the great thing about Congress, is that it’s completely okay to walk up to somebody you don’t know so you can introduce yourself.
One of things I relished most was catching-up with some of the youth I used to work with, now in college, helping lead their own organizations. It inspires a pride deep within me, makes me wonder what working with them now would be like, what I would learn from their leadership. Then there were the other kasamas I was once in collective with; catching up with them was like charting my own growth. It makes me eager to look back, assess my development, the choices I’ve made, both good and bad.
Of the faces not there because of pregnancy, family emergency or familial duty, know that deeply, you were missed; in your place all of the shared stories from Congress-past, catching up on three years of happenings in-between congresses. And of those missing because of burnout, or other self-care reasons, you especially, were missed.
The funny thing about chronic illness is that it offers a new sense of perspective, ability to parcel out the extraneous from the heart of what matters most. I felt different from the last time I stepped inside that space; older, more secure, and self-aware. It allows me to appreciate the present: the kasamas, the space, the city that welcomed us, the food that nourished us during long-as-hell meetings in hot-ass rooms packed with folks hella pawis & business casual.
As I look out my window at the rain-cloud sky, one day removed from the work hard/play hard bubble of Congress, I feel an intense love coursing through my heart’s chambers; a stormy love ferocious and passionate; for this movement I am a part of. Seven years may not seem like a long time, but for me, the serial monogamist of many things, seven years is the longest relationship I’ve had in adulthood. That’s significant, you know? What does it say that by the seven-year-itch I find myself deeper in love with my kasamas and this movement, our people and our shared motherland?
It’s the love you feel after the honeymoon, when the romanticism has been peeled away. Its easy to be part of a movement when the times are good, when the chants are in unison and fists raised taking the streets, when our voices bring the karaoke house down. And in those hard moments? What reveals itself is the nuance of a complex character whose story touches too close the surface of our collective traumas of migration and -isms. After seven years, I’m finally understanding what it means to struggle though some shit; claim where the fault is mine, and no longer afraid to voice what I’ve experienced as the fault of our whole. This is the moment I re-commit myself with the widest of arms, embracing the struggle as much as I do the spirit of it.
For the first time in a long minute, I look forward to serving my movement, in whatever ways I can, absent of ego. With my foundation spent in babae sf, AnakBayan Eastbay and NYCHRP; as I transition out of FiRE with the highest of intention & integrity; and as I begin moving towards SiGAw; wherever my feet lands within this National Democratic family, I do so with open eyes, ready for the forever kind of love this movement brings. Sulong! Makibaka! Huwag Matakot!
