We search the earth for implied permissions. Permission to speak before humanity. Permission to feel from our loved ones. Permission to count among nationals. Permission to come into our own. But if we wait to be told when to speak, will they not also expect us to read from their script and pause at their instruction? Perhaps there is more merit in being different, in standing out by standing up with bruises all over our hands and faces; souvenirs that tell stories about our lives and all the times we chose to live who we are- unapologetically.