1. Milk & Honey (Jordan, Amman)

I had just gotten off the phone with my grandparents, and by that I mean I had just gotten off the phone after balling my eyes out. I proceeded to go to brunch with my friend Yulissa and per usual I was feeling numb. I had my best friend fly across the world and although I wanted to be happy, I was numb. The first floor of this brunch place was a bookstore, and there in the middle of Amman, Jordan I saw Milk & Honey for the first time.

I opened it, and I had to sit on the floor because her words were starting to thaw away my numbness. Rupi speaking her truth, made me realize that I am not fucking insane for feeling the things that I do, and that there are so many people out there that are hiding these emotions too. Yes, I started to read poetry and even write it, but it was because of this book, because of Milk & Honey.

I know it sounds silly, but this book changed something in me. Looking back, I can describe it better now. I was in such a dark place with my depression and anxiety, and I love my friends, but some just don't get it. They think anxiety is not real because they don't have it. They think that I have no reason to be insecure. They think that when I'm feeling anxious, I should just stop feeling like that. And what people don't realize is how crippling that is.

When I'm having a panic attack at an ice cream shop, and all I hear is, "you're being dramatic, we're just at an ice cream shop, chill out". It hits me even harder and makes me feel worse than I already feel. Yes, I wish it were as easy as turning an on and off switch, but it's not that easy. And when I'm going through it, now I know which of my friends make me feel like shit, and I don't take it personal.

Unless you have anxiety, you have no idea how it feels. I know people see it as an "irrational thing". I start shaking, and I start feeling a heavy pressure around my shoulders and neck, my heart starts racing and I feel like my muscles are all spazzing out at the same time. I try to take control of my body, but I just cannot. Even when it seems like I am "back to normal", I need a day or two after a panic attack to recover, because my entire body is sore from my muscles contracting.

This book helped me so much, I just wanted to share it with everyone. And I did. I would post it all over my story. I would keep extra copies and lend them to my friends. I just hope everyone can heal from what is keeping them from being their true self, and I hope they too can start speaking their truth.

2. The Sun and Her Flowers (Chicago, IL)

This was a little different. I bought two books for my littles. I bought it for them and obviously read it. The thing is that it hit a different part of me, a part that I didn't even know I had. My ancestors. I've never known my great grandmother, but I always ask my grandma about her. I know she died in her sleep when my grandma was in her twenties.

Then I read the poem on page 200 and I started sobbing. I was confused as to where all these tears were coming from, because they didn't feel like my tears. I felt like I was crying for my grandmother, and great grandmother and I felt unreal, borderline insane. What I didn't tell you was the conversation my grandmother and I had when I was in Jordan (at the beginning of the article).

While I was in Jordan, I called my grandmother after I had finished crying, but like a real G, she could tell that something was wrong and asked me if I was okay, and through silenced sobs I told her. I told her I was homesick, and how hard being a woman is in the Middle East is. Courage and feminism don't look like what I've been taught in America. Feminism is not about reading and being educated; sometimes the most significant forms of feminism happen within seconds and may not look heroic at all.

I told my grandma that some women liked living here because they feel protected. Protected from the misogyny that we face every day, the harassment and cat calling I endure when walking down the streets of Chicago. It was hard, because I came into this culture not understanding shit and thinking that I knew how to help them, simply because I've read books about it. But what people don't tell you is how much of a privilege that is. To think that you can just come into a culture, with the purest intentions and not know shit. You want to help oppressed women? First off, stop thinking of them as oppressed women, that shit pisses me off now; and it angers me because I used to view it like this, because it's the way we've been taught.

Honestly, what I experienced in Jordan is a whole book, and I'll touch on that on a different article. All you should get out of this is that I traveled to the Middle East during my study abroad for 4 months in 2017 and made myself uncomfortable asf and ventured out of my bubble. In that moment, my grandma started crying. She told me that she is so proud of me. That I'm doing everything she's always wanted to do but has been too scared to do. She wishes she could travel to Jordan. She wishes she was exploring, learning, crying and living all these experiences. And in that moment, I realized my connection with my lineage.

I am the daughter of my mother, and her mother. I am doing the things all the women in my family have wanted to do, and I am living not only because of them but by them. Not only did they physically give me life, but I feel like they passed down their own desires and bucket list they didn't complete. Okay I know it sounds insane but bear with me. You know how it's been proven in the Holocaust survivor's that you can pass, genetically, fear to your off springs. Well what if the same can be done, but in a good way? What if you can pass down unfinished goals.

I felt that. I felt supported by the women in my family. I felt like they are supporting me and my journey. And I realized this, because I feel like an angel watching over me, and it's not just Grace. In that moment I realized why I've always had this itch to travel. It's not just me wanting to see the world, but all the women in my family that want to see the world too, that desire and yearning has been physically passed down to me. And because it's been oppressed by so many women in my family, it's strong as hell in me.

3. Homebody (Naples, FL)

I haven't fully digested this yet. I read it, but I feel like it's too soon for me to understand what the words did to me. I can tell you what has happened so far though. When I got the book, I held it between my hands, and I was surprised at how well it blended with my skin. The book looked like an extension of my hands, and it felt like magic.

I opened it, and I knew I was in for a rollercoaster of emotions and realizations. The thing about Rupi is, that when I read her poems, I feel like she's inside my head. I feel like she's placing these words in front of me that I've been trying to hide. She places them in front of me in such a way that doesn't hurt me and encourages me to be honest with myself; something that I should do more.

As I cried in silence, I went outside and took some pictures with the book. This is not my first article about Rupi, and it will not be the last. Words cannot describe how thankful I am because she has inspired me to be honest. I internalize how people see me, their expectations, and I no longer wish to live through the lenses of what people think I should be, and it's hard—it's fucking difficult. I've spent my entire 22 years, caring so much about how others view me, that I have no solid foundation of myself and how I view myself, and it's scary. It's scary to know that who I've spent so much time being wasn't actually anyone that I am proud of. Sure, I've accomplished some dope things, but it was only to seem cool and check off this list that I thought was supposed to make me happy.

Thank you Rupi for your honesty and creating these books—and being ripped apart by people that are jealous and threatened by you. Thank you, for constantly putting yourself out there, to only be hated and criticized by such negative people, and you take it all. It is not fair. And with that I hope that we are abled to accept our own truths, no matter how ugly. And I hope that we try harder to stop tearing each other down.