From The Other Side of the ICEBerg (Excerpt)
A show about a horse that was once in a very famous TV show in the 90s holds little weight in the conversation of Chicano identity, which is why I resent the fact it ties me to it with a cement block. I am a toddler thrust into the open seas when watching the sixth season episode “The View From Halfway Down”. Secretariat—yes, that one—commits suicide. He jumps to his death into the icy unknown waves below and the main character, Bojack, reads a poem about the experience. It goes as follows:
The weak breeze whispers nothing
the water screams sublime.
His feet shift, teeter-totter
deep breaths, stand back, it’s time.
Toes untouch the overpass
soon he’s water-bound.
Eyes locked shut but peek to see
the view from halfway down.
A little wind, a summer sun
a river rich and regal.
A flood of fond endorphins
brings a calm that knows no equal.
You’re flying now, you see things
much more clear than from the ground.
It's all okay, or it would be
were you not now halfway down.
Thrash to break from gravity
what now could slow the drop?
All I’d give for toes to touch
the safety back at top.
But this is it, the deed is done
silence drowns the sound.
Before I leaped I should've seen
the view from halfway down.
I really should’ve thought about
the view from halfway down.
I wish I could've known about
the view from halfway down—
I understand the significance can be lost on anyone not me, but the other shoe always has to drop and here it came, TwinkleToe hovering over me and I am suddenly a stag beetle on a random sidewalk. A core piece of my being is lost from leaping off the ICEberg and down below. If I could have seen the view from halfway down, I would have done more to stay. I would have told my mom I love her, and I wouldn’t have been so angry at my baby sister when she broke my Chromebook. I hate Chromebooks, I always think about how she shattered the screen in a teenage melt down and how I refused to talk to her because she kept saying she didn’t do it. I would have spoken Spanish more when I first came, because in the last year I have lost my ability to speak my first language fluently. I would have chosen California as my cage instead of Colorado, because caged birds sing and my family loves to sing during a party. All I’d give for toes to touch the safety back at top.
Full Article On Medium: https://medium.com/@melloncommie/the-other-side-of-the-iceberg-an-essay-on-survivors-guilt-9270e6e01370
