Month: May 2018

I come from a place where columns of black boots hit the pavement in perfect unison.
I come from a place where the one and only road must fight for space between rice paddies full of tadpoles and tiny insects.
I come from a place where nothing ever happens.
I come from a place that I used to called home.
Home is where I used to stare up at the sky, flat on my back, under a giant shade from a nearby tree gyrating to the gentle summer breeze. At eight years old, I contemplated life’s infinite possibilities, although I can’t quite remember to be honest, distracted by the regional train chugging along few kilometers away from my village.
It is a simple life.
Earthworms rise to the surface at the first sign of rain.
The air fills with the smell of morning mist gently lifting the veil of rising day.
A gaggle of small children giggle on their way to school.
It is a simple place when looking in from the outside, and I wonder how life would have been had it not been for all the darkness, and all the light that poured out of that small town.

A set of tiny eyes squints as it peers into the autumn sky.
The little wings flit and flutter with little air beneath its narrow shoulders.
It hops and hobbles on tiny legs before mustering up the courage to balance itself on the edge of a cozy nest.
A big gulp of breath. Inhale. Exhale.
Another second passes and the moment is lost.
The bird has only one chance towards its independence.
Leaping too soon could cost its life.
Waiting too long to fly may mean it won’t grow strong enough to join the migration before winter comes.

Where there is light, there is darkness.
Don’t forget.
I won’t, shouts the brain.
But you must, whispers the heart.

A set of streams catapult down the mountain, not at all concerned with passersby taking selfies before scurrying off to snap another. The sun peeks around a spot of clouds to cast a ray across the water main, painting on the rocky surface tiny droplets of water falling down its face.

A wise woman once told me that most people give up too soon. Too painful. Too much to handle. Instead of digging, they polish the surface until it sparkles. The root festers and dies, covered by a sheen of pretentiousness.

I take a step forward. Then a step back. I step on your toes. I push and shove unintentionally. I stumble and fall. I’m not good at this, and this time is no different. My heart grows heavy before it weeps in silence. I fold this moment into a million pieces. I hold it close to my heart before releasing it into thin air.

It may have been a moment to share the broken self. Come with me. Peek into the cut once too raw and pungent. The cut that was left open to fester until the beast was awakened to lick the wound. To invite the scabbing and healing process to take place. I had to dig deep. Into the past to console the young and broken spirit. A faint scar invisible to the untrained eye remains. A tunnel is kept open.