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a finale of sorts

The mad black girl strikes again: the finale


Anywho, hi. I graduated. Me and Yale’s four-year, toxic relationship is (for the most part… for now?) over. I have completely lost my mind. I’m coming to you with a shoddy, discombobulated attempt at a ‘see you later.’


Will this blog continue? Probably. Given the world’s conditions, I don’t ever see myself completely eradicating any sense of madness out of my life. I do expect it to shift, though. I indeed expect it to evolve. Y’all saw me repeat the same lessons over and over in different fonts, with different line spacing and styles. Part of me is still a little embarrassed about that because why the hell is my head so hard? But you know, I’ve said it a million times, I've come out of the flames a little more self-aware, a little more cautious each rising. Lessons are multifaceted and it’s crazier for me to think I’ll learn everything in one go than it is for me to just… fuck up.


Chile anyways, post-grad life is still so fresh. I don’t think I’ve processed any of what happened at Yale yet. All of it feels like a fever dream that I’m finally waking up from— sweaty, bewildered, and confused.


I don’t know though. Maybe I know exactly what happened but I’m not ready to close the book. I have to say that despite the trials, I’ve never been this close to knowing myself… and loving myself. So, I have to give my lil' stint at Yale its funky ass credit. (As the stomping grounds of my glow up, not as the actual co-contributor. If you know, you know...)


Either way, just know that I love every single one of you, my returning readers, my friends who don’t hesitate to gas me, the people who read and say slick shit about me on Facebook (hey cuzzzz), and everybody just passing through. My greatest joy has been going through my analytics and seeing how many people just stop on by. I feel like the grandma or the auntie who like to sit on the porch all day and watch folks passing by. Knowing a little bit of everybody, still praying for the ones I don’t.


To make a long mf story short, this part of my life, interrogated or not, is over. I’m at the crossroads of crossroads in my life (I mean, I’m 23, but you know I’m dramatic, shit). I’m realizing every day how much responsibility I have over myself, and honestly, I’m alarmed. I want to go home. Like no, I want to crawl back into the womb and wait it out til the storm blows over. This shit is dangerous. My friends hate it too. We are walking in what feels like a maze… a dangerous colonial maze with our eyes covered with sticky tape and no line of defense. And—and it’s hailing. And it’s supposed to freeze over by nightfall and here we are… just out-fucking-side trying to make it somewhere, anywhere, that’s not a dead end.


That might be my most colorful analogy yet on this page. Regardless, girls is tired and I’m girls. Girls is me. But that discussion is for another day. For now, it’s see you later. Until next time, and who knows what I’ll upload next. Chaotic editorials are only the tip of the iceberg, believe it or not :)


Anyways, alright y’all. <3


love,

the maddest of real deal, bonafide black girls,

zyria.



bye ho.


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