Born in Dystopia

I was born into a dystopia. Founded on others’ ideals and expectations. Following the roadway that was set up for me. My mind was melded into something it is not. My actions being controlled like a marionette. Any wrong step and I am looked at as a black sheep. The idea of a dystopian world is spoken of some sort of fiction in which we portray through books and movies. Zombies taking over, people fighting until death, and the colliding of a corrupt government. Though, I can not help but feel that we are already in a dystopian world. A world in which we praise white skin, give power to straight men, lift up those with money, bring down those with little, and take away any sort of imagination. The dream has already been built and how to get there is written. If you go against this box that was built for you, you go against the dream. This is a world in which we can not dream, but in which we can simply form into what we are meant to be. To go against it is to be seen as doing wrong because those who built it -- the white and the wealthy -- get uncomfortable in those who see right through it. Who see that there is more to it and that the color of their skin or the look of their bank accounts is not what creates this world. It is the people and we are here to fight for what is ours. To fight for our own beliefs in following our heart.

***

My name is Julianna Rodriguez. I was born on March 5th, 1998 to parents who should not have gotten married in the first place. If they taught me anything, it was that love is to fight. Love is to be strong enough to stay in the abuse and lack. Love is to forgive and to forget. To look beyond ourselves and care for others more. They brought me into a world of believing things that were not true and not okay. I was shown that money was always a struggle. That a full meal was rice and beans. Canned food would be stockpiled from coupon clippings that my mom collected from others’ trash. My dad worked constantly, barely keeping rent to our two-bedroom one bath apartment in LA, California. At the age of 14, I was working to help pay for the family expenses and the medical bills that got stockpiled on my family after my brothers’ diagnosis of Leukemia. Even after his passing, we have hundreds of thousands of bills to pay, which did not even keep him alive.

***

I was born into this. I did not ask for this. Waking up at 4 am to make it to my job as a barista before school. Barely scraping by with a 2.5 GPA because I did not have time to study or do my homework. Yet, no help was given. No empathy was seen from miles away. My teachers told me to apply myself more. The hospital didn’t budge on payments. My father lost his job due to job cuts in 2013. My family was struggling, as many looked down on us as they were thriving. Simply saying, “Just get a job” to my mother who planted herself on a street corner asking for money, every weekend. My life was labeled minuscule to others, and yet I had no other choice. There was no other option for me, but to just survive. My family’s hardships were others earnings. We were the step stools to their pedestals. I looked up to this pedestal with great admiration...with a desire to have my own. To make this box I was put into and break it down and redefine it. But how could I? I was the answer to others’ success. Me being poor allowed them to be rich. This world is filled with injustice, but it is not seen because it is how it runs. Without it, their dystopia would cease to exist. They say to “Just do *blank*” but I never even was given the chance to do so. They say to succeed, I should go to college. But who are they to say this, when I barely even have the money to feed myself? Grades that will not get me scholarships? “Just work harder,” they say, when all I have been doing is working since I was born. A helping hand is not given because for me to succeed, is for them to fail. For me to go against what is expected is to redefine reality. Their reality is because of me. I am ready to take a breath of my own air. To not feed off the reminisce that they call equality.

***

At the age of 19, I was shoved into the world of 9 to 5 jobs. I worked as a receptionist at dentistry for barely any money. I believed I must only be worth the $11.50 they pay me an hour. I had to be because that was my only option. Stuck in the system that the money I make is more important than my worth and what I love. Scraping the $5 I had left from my paycheck to purchase used art supplies from garage sales, thrift stores, or a used art supply store. Everything I ever got in my life was used. It was never mine unless it was used by someone who could afford it before me. Shoving all I had in a box below my bed in a motel that my boyfriend at the time and I lived in. It made my heart sink to even call him my boyfriend. He was no friend to me, but simply an abuser. But I relied on his salary as much as I did my own. Which became more heavily true on the day I learned I was pregnant.

I never thought I would be sitting in a 7-11 bathroom waiting for myself to pee over a pregnancy stick. Every part of me wanted it to be negative. My life was not set up for a child. No place to bring it home, an income I could barely live off of, and a world where hatred was all around. Tears stung my eyes as the two lines came into my vision. My heart caught into my throat. I had to get rid of it. But how? I lived in a state where it was not my choice to make the best decision for myself. Even if I did, people would scream at me that I will go to hell -- when I grew up in a Christian home. They care for the baby now but not for when it is born. They will not help me, they will just throw them into the foster system. A toxic system where the children are not even cared for. How could I do that to my child? But how could I bring a child into the world that my parents brought me into? There is no perfect decision. Because I am stuck in a life that is not built for me. I just want to get out of this dystopia. My life is at the bottom of the food chain, which allows them to keep being fed. As my life falls to depletion.

I had no choice but to give them less to feed on. My child will not become another source to be used. Another dream to not be written because money speaks louder than love, to them. My hand touched my stomach as I let out a breath and said, “You are more than this world has built you up to be. Now listen my little bean, I will be the stepping stool for you to climb out of this life I was given. You will see and become more than I could ever imagine. I will give you a life where imagining is something that can be turned into reality. I am sorry, for this means you can not be with me, but a whole other family."

***

“Lucille,” I whispered to the small face that looked back at me. “It means light, my love. Be sure to let yourself shine every day. Your rays will change many.” I spoke with a hushed sob because Lucille was not mine. She was by blood, but her chosen parents only were minutes away. I sacrificed my happiness to allow her to breathe. To not have to worry about eating or sleeping in a home or let alone have heating in the winter. She will be the change towards something new. For I could not give her the positive side of this dystopian world. I have been in the shadow of others’ thrones, bowing to them. All I hope is that she will start bringing the sun to these shadows.

My lips brushed her forehead as I gave her one final goodbye. My fist unclenched what I have been holding for myself for years -- a heart-shaped locket that read, “Follow your heart” on the back of it. A picture of me was found inside. “Do what I was not able to do, sweet one,” Tucking the locket within her bound blanket, “Be the book I was never able to write.”

The End