“Little Latin boy in drag, why are you crying?”
Hi there! My name is Kara Mel’Delight and where I may not be latin, this little boy did do a little drag and had a few tears to get into this habit (the tears were from the fortress of pins). The start of my journey within the Sisterhood started simply, a friend asked if I was interested and of course, as most men who aren’t used to pushing their own boundaries said, “maybe.” As you see, that “maybe” turned into a “HELL YEAH,” which actualy took place after my first night out as Kara Mel’Delight. My fellow Sisters not only greeted me endearingly, but encouraged me to express myself in every creative way that I didn’t give myself previously. This alone was enough to hook me into a new set of heels and a color pallet, but there has been so much more to promote this newfound culture…
Growing up as a little mixed gay boy in a town known only for its prison that’s hidden within country cornfields sounds a bit like Deliverance. Luckily, I had a stigmatized black 21-year Army Officer father with undoubtedly untreated psychological issues to set me “straight.” Normal was a term often used in my home, growing up. Not understanding what someone else’s definition of who I should be, or how I should act left me with far more tears than I, or my mother, deserved. My step-mother has always been my hero. Not only shielding me from the abuse of a parent, but showing me just how perfectly acceptable it is to be exactly who I am. No matter how different. Love is love. You don’t need anyone else’s definition of it to feel complete. For 18 traumatic years, fear and seclusion ran my life. Near permanently distorted views of family and interpersonal relationships and the idea that everyone was going to hurt me and there was nothing I could do about it… When it was time for college I was able to escape and be arond others who understood the same love that my mother expressed. Many more tears were shead over time realizing just how right my mom was, and that it is completely okay with being exactly who you are. Fear is a powerful tool, but you can’t let it keep your heart captive. You must love yourself freely to face your fears boldly and tell them (per my mother), “FUCK YOU,” you never know where you may end up, but that’s part of the journey. That is the excitement, the love, the lesson.
Maybe brought me to my new family. “Why not?” allowed me to question my own stigmas so I could express new thoughts and ideas. “Yes” lets me hold hands with those I can now call friends and Sisters. The more I learn what it means to be a Sister, the more I seem to flourish. I have finally found my tribe whose hearts match my own. We stand up for those who have been hurt, who cry in fear, who need a hand or shoulder to lean on or an ear to listen. We seek to be everything that we didn’t have and needed for those who are still too afraid to do it alone. Becoming a Sister has made me a stronger and even more compassionate individual. I feel as though I’ve grown more in the past few months of starting this journey than I have in years. I don’t have to be afraid of not being something I know isn’t me. I can encourage others to have the same strength. Even if that may be in heels and a dress, painted face and habit, lipstick and eyebrows on fleek for days. With all the creass of a navy ship of seamen and demented humor that makes the pill bottles pop that much harder, the Sisters allow Kara to make me the best version of myself that I never could have imagined without them. And I am so thankful and proud of that.
With utmost love, encouragement and grace (in heels),