The sound of guitar strums and hums of the engine lure me into the bottomless pit that I've been tiptoeing around. A trail of foreign liquid trickles down my face. Strange. —-—-—- Four years old: "You're the eldest, you can't cry." My elders frowned as I turned my wet face towards them, warm blood running down my knees. Engraved in my brain, that line was fed to me for as long as I remembered. It became my understanding of strength throughout much of my life. Five years old: My small fingers wrapped around my three-year-old brother's meaty hands when thumps and shouts sounded from my parents' bedroom. My brother sobbed into my shirt as tears prickled the back of my eyes. He raised his head, greeting me with his red, puffy eyes. Stay strong. I smiled down and stroked his head. "Everything's alright," I said, as my voice wobbled. Six years old: My head throbbed, the characters in front of me faded in and out of view as my mom monitored my handwriting from behind. My hand shook as my wrist protested after a long day of writing. "Erase that, your teacher's going to mark up that character," she lectured as she rubbed my back. Despite knowing that she's right, tears filled the rim of my eyes. "Shh, crying won't fix anything," she cooed. Crying can't fix anything. I blinked the tears away and set my pencil on the page once again, fighting against the lullaby from the hazy lamp. Ten years old: The blanket in my parents' room was shaking from where I was hiding behind the crack of their door. "Mom?" I quipped as I stepped closer to the blanket. My mom's glazed, bloodshot eyes met my confused pair. "I'm sorry, baby. The district's not letting us stay, you're gonna have to say goodbye to your friends," she croaked. Pressure built in my skull and behind my eyes. Dissociating, I felt my face scrunch and, in a voice that's not quite my own, said "It's ok, Mommy". My mom pulled me into the blanket, sobbing against my shoulders. Twenty minutes later, I closed the door quietly behind me. "Mommy's alright, everything's gonna be ok," I whispered as I stroked my brother and sister's heads. Nothing is wrong if the tears don't come. My facial muscles hurt when I fell asleep that night. My perception of crying as a weakness eventually caused me to dissociate and unconsciously push back tears when they surfaced. On movie nights, my teary-faced mom would playfully push me as I looked at her confusedly, wondering why she was crying over a movie. In truth, I had dissociated from my seat as soon as I felt the tingle behind my eyes. At prom, my throat tightened and my vision blurred as my friends looked at me with teary eyes as "One Call Away" played. Still, the tears never came. Seventeen years old: Unfamiliar scenery and crowds of students surrounded me. No one woke up to make breakfast with me. No one sent me off to school with "bye sweetie" s. Stay strong. No memorized routes in my head. No one ran to me when I walked into the school. No one greeted me in the hallways. No familiar jokes and summer debriefs with teachers. Nothing's wrong if the tears don't come. No support system to ask about college applications. No walk-ins with the counselor to figure out the legality issues on top of applications. No one knew what I should do. Crying can't fix anything. I blinked back the moisture in my eyes; however, I feel weak. —-—-—-—- Now, the tears freely flow from the dam that I've confined them behind as "Never Grow Up" plays from the car speaker. Nothing's wrong if the tears don't come. Yet, everything feels right as I confront the pain of taking my friends' laughter, my teachers' care, my parents' love, my brother's loud music, and my sister's annoying questions for granted. Crying can't fix anything. Yet, I feel pieces falling back into place in my brain: the nostalgia of underappreciated memories and remembrance of long-suppressed feelings. Stay strong. Yet, this is the strongest I've ever felt in a long time. I look in the mirror and no longer see the little girl cowering from her feelings. Instead, I see a pair of bittersweet, dark eyes looking back at me: I'm finally embracing all the complicated, intangible emotions that come with my identity. I'm finally able to look at all parts of myself. The wind caresses my face, smearing away the tears on my face as I redefine crying as a strength, not a weakness, for I've accepted all parts that constitute who I am. Feeling lighter than before, I step towards the unforeseeable future with my newfound strength in vulnerability.