What you can’t tell by looking at me is how complicated my life has been. I’ve always existed in the in-between whether as a Mexican-American who is also Jewish and Swiss, whether as a queer person whose sense of love isn’t confined to cisgender, heteronormative or monogamous standards, or as a person who was raised in rural poverty where Velveeta cheese and generic peanut butter were dietary staples. I embrace the names and definitions of my identities, I love them. However, I accept wholly who I am first, without definition. My life has not been one with direct paths, I’ve always, been in the road, in the in-between, simultaneously both and neither, all of it yet none, the cosmic universe and singularly myself, my identity a torpid, changing beast like no other.