Eddisa

There’s always that question—why do you write?

A dear friend of mine from college was the first person to illuminate to me the power of a laptop. Just a laptop with Microsoft Word on it, no internet or nothin. She could spend hours or days on that thing, typing away and making worlds with her words. She told me she was the oldest out of all her cousins and she had a big weight on her shoulders, with many lil ones looking to her for guidance. She was a poet and she had a grace about her that I admired, envied at times, much to my own detriment. She reminded me of the person that I wanted to be but couldn't imagine—strong, beautiful, intelligent. Together, with a handful of other friends, we were inseparable our freshman year in that lonely college town. We held each other, we cried together, we dreamt together, we missed home together. Eddisa passed away in 2018 but I lost her way before then.

For reasons I didn't quite understand at the time, she cut ties with us all after our first year. Looking back now—given the brutality of the school—it makes sense to me that she chose to curate her time and the people she surrounded herself with. I still saw her sometimes, but I understood that our relationship was different. She wasn't mean about it, she just set a boundary. Eddisa was smart about school, carved her way through and walked in 2016. Went off to do things I wish I knew. The last time I saw her was during a summer, she was getting off a CTA train and I was getting on. We said hello quickly and never spoke again.

I will always miss her.

So one of the reasons I write is Eddisa. She's not the only one, but she is the first one that came to mind.