by Olivia Cruz
When teachers ask “What animal represents you?” I freeze like I’m on the ice of the icebreaker. For me, there’s no real answer; but I say my favorite animal, a seal. Yet I’m not confident nor social, even I want to be. Maybe I’d be a whale shark, absentmindedly floating through life. Maybe, even, the beautiful sea anemone; or a free dog; or even a tree, reaching for more.
Secretly, I’m the paralyzed deer, caught in the headlights of choice, smelling the fresh scent of grassy petrichor with rough gravel between hooves. I’m in a weird stage of life – maybe an adult, but not quite – succeeding, but not quite – almost perfect grades, but not quite – an eternal limbo of maybes and almosts, accompanied by a resounding “not quite”.
I don’t want to be the deer.
I want to embody all the traits of whale sharks and seals and every animal I love. But choosing one leaves me paralyzed. Dizzy with fear, questioning whether to move. Like a blinded deer, peering at the red car barreling towards me that forces a choice. For others, it’s the difference between moving and staying; for me, it’s only someone else choosing for me sooner.
