My hair wrapped around my fingers
like babies legs around one’s waist.
How I miss the scent of home
and the feeling of security.
Here.
With glaring eyes that interrogate my character, I do not know how I should act.
Presumably, I act like myself—
I’m bad at playing any other character.
I’m a bit awkward.
Actually, I’m really awkward.
Does this make me ignorant?
No.
It just makes me…awkward.
I stare outside and hues of green welcome my eyes;
they lure me in like skilled geishas.
The sun is quiet but kind today,
with ever flowing rays that caress my skin
and encourage the sweat upon my forehead and neck.
My hands are so young but so worn already.
Dry as callous and dark as chocolate.
As I sit here worrying about the shade of my skin or the desired porcelain texture of my hands—there are problems so much bigger than these.
The banks, the tellers, the stores, and the university—they all want something out of me that I find hard to retrieve.
They push and push and push until my existence is of no more.
I push and push and push until my head explodes with bubbles of pain and tears of surrender.
My heart is weak but my mind is strong.
My heart gives up as my mind recollects what is hers—strength.
So prideful, I am.
The smiles of my nieces whom hate me (aha) and the laughters of my parents are consummated into a ball of strength when met with the beauty of God.
None is greater than the Love of God.
I am still learning this.
He smiles at me when I am at my worse and humbly asks me why I took so long to ask Him for help.
My answer: I do not know.
I guess pride is a double-edged sword; one with the strength to carry on and the other with the temporary strength to withhold the amazing glory of my God.
Naive.
As my hair turns gray, I will always remain naive.
God is a wondrous God and I will spend my lifetime discovering and sharing his breathtaking love.
I love you, my heavenly Father.
