The Posse

A few days ago, a member of my posse family left for her first post-grad journey.  As expected there was a long farewell celebration.  During these times of beautiful sadness, I was reminded of why I was in a posse.  The three ladies I call sisters have changed me in one way or another.  When I feared the place I was in, I could always look forward to Wednesday dinners with Al, Tab, and Jess.  My place of peace was found in a meal that brought four strong, passionate, and independent women to a table.  During these dinners, the four of us were allowed to be vulnerable and free.  I sincerely felt that there was not one thing I could share with these ladies and I also felt that I could share what I wanted to share nothing more or less.


At a time when life was crazy I found myself surrounded by three women that had situations that would challenged them to their core.  One can even suggest that our sorrows made our friendships stronger.  My third semester at UCM, I found myself with the family that I needed and had lost.  It is funny how things appear when one most needs them and least expects them.  I had managed to form a home in a place that I despise a year prior.


The term posse came about as our own term of family.  It was a celebration of our close friendship.  We wanted to give a proper label to our family.  I vividly remember my October with the posse.  It was the second year anniversary of the passing of my mentor, Jackie, and I found myself surrounded with the kindness and love of these three women.  As gloomy as October was, it was bearable because of them.  I remember one evening after Wednesday dinner, we went on a walk to get ice cream.  As we walked back to campus, I got a feeling of being invincible; next to these three women I felt fearless.  At the time I could not define this feeling until a few days later.  I was once again fearless.


Being in the inside, I will admit that I was unaware of the perception of those that did not understand what the posse meant to us. Although, I would try to explain to the outsiders about the posse  the reality is that their perspective of the posse was not the one I had.  Soon the word "posse" had gotten a connotation that showed the misunderstanding perceptions of the people around us.  I always thought that people refused to understand. This might be true but what is also true is that I refused to understand their perspective.  I didn't have to, or at least I felt I did not have to.  It was not until internal feuds with another peer reached others and for some crazy reason all of the sudden, the posse was seen as an equivalent to the "mean girls."  I admit that this feud had nothing to do with the posse and whatever was said or done between myself and this other individual was just between us.  Soon, the perception was that we were one unit and not four individuals that called ourselves family.


Somewhere in between  the posse dinners and Hanukkah photos people got the wrong image of us.  I would have loved to say fuck you to everyone that misunderstood our bond but I did not.  If anything I tried to find a lesson in all this.  As time went by and the stressing duty of job searching came upon us, we got lost and the unity was slowly  disappearing between some of us.  While two bonds got stronger another was being broken.  I will never forget what was said to me and I will never forget that there was no malicious intent in those words.  However, I do make myself remember that in a world were we demand perfection all we can do is be human.  I know that I am leaving much out but I do this with a purpose. We, four, know what happened and we experienced it.


We, four, feel and know our experience with the posse and that is truly all that matters. Although there is no certainty of whether we are still a posse, one thing is for sure in my opinion, the posse gave me a family when the one I had was nonexistent. So whenever, I am asked, why do you have farewells that last days? All I have to say is that these three women were there for me when I needed them and if they want endless farewells that is what I will do. I no longer expect anyone to understand and I no longer will give explanations; I do not have to because all the understanding and explaining I had to do I have done...to myself.

A little too comfortable...

As I sit and stare at the mess of my living space, I get haunted by the feelings of sadness, frustration, and happiness. In this place where the hallway to my bedroom was my kitchen and where my dining room and living room were the same room; I bravely acknowledge that this two room apartment has been my place of peace.  In this apartment I have had some of the best times.  This two room apartment was witness of my growth and self-discovery. 

Although, I know that the ending to this journey was inevitable I am still not immune to the bittersweet feeling and not wanting to left go of this place that I once hated with a passion.  It is a funny thing, three years ago I did not know this place, this cohort, and this part of me.  I do not want to imagine what would my life would be without this experience.  It should be no surprise that packing is not only a chore that I despise but it is the dose of reality that loudly announces that my time here is coming to an end. 

I am not going to keep a countdown because countdowns are complete nonsense.  To keep count of how time escapes us and how the days will pass by and become a history that we are rushing is a thought that is irrational to me. I want to enjoy my time left here and remember that I did things my way; which might have not been the best way but nonetheless it was my way.  As I pack and prioritize which items come with me and which ones do not, I become scared of the new adventure ahead.  

The question of whether I am going to miss this place is not an uncommon question however, it always leads to the same and simple solution of wanting things to stay the way they currently are.  As I pack I am reminded of everything and it is strange to see how everything has changed.  I walked in as a lost soul looking for clarity and now I am leaving with a clear mind into a world that might push me towards a surprising path. 

I sit here in a room full of boxes and all I can think of is how is it going to be? What is my life going to be after this experience? Am I going to see the people that have changed me? Can things really stay the way they are now?

I know the answers to these questions will be answered in due time.  I want to believe that I at least have the memories of the past two years to remind me of a great experience. I remember my first dinner party, I remember the multiple marriage proposals which were a result of delicious salsa and green chicken enchiladas.  I remember the posse dinners, I remember crying like a little girl and having my dear soul sister next to me telling everything would be okay. I remember "talk like Yoda" days at the office, I remember my first winter. I remember finding a new mentor and I remember the day I called this place home.