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May 20, 2008 at 6:58 pm (Uncategorized)

How can the beauty of language not be connected to the beauty of life?

Now that school is out I will have plenty of time to write and reflect and perhaps that is all I will do today on this cold, rainy May afternoon. I wanted to take a walk, but not in this ugly weather. So, I woke really late – really late—around 1 o’clock and now I wonder what to do with the day. When my mother hates me. When my cell phone is lost. When I can’t see my boyfriend.

 

This is a fictional piece…

 A mother’s love for her child is unconditional, right? I mean I don’t have children but I assume this to be true. I thought that my mother understood me better than anyone, but I have to come to realize that she doesn’t understand much. I hate, absolutely hate, when we fight, just because she has so much to worry about already – leave me alone! But the truth of the matter is a simple: I AM NOT A CHILD ANYMORE. I hate when she treats me like a little kid and refuses to recognize the fact that I am 22 years old and I am 7 years away from 30 (middle age!). And meanwhile in the back of my mind I think, mom at this time you were married and you were almost pregnant with me!

 

When parents hinder their children from experience, you deny them from a part of their humanity. I wish she had a greater capacity for empathy, but she has none — I sometimes think. I think  my mother’s refusal to read has really limited her ability to see the struggles of others. It’s sad to say, but one who doesn’t read or refuses to read, will never understand the world in the same way as an avid reader does. I have lived another life in those pages and I have developed at new way of thinking and perceiving the world – one that no one could have taught me except through books. The world is so different to me now. Everything I see is like a poem, I see a story with each new experience, and metaphors come spilling out of my mouth. How can the beauty of language not be connected to the beauty of life?

 

Although there is a type of detached comfort in being home, I hate being stuck amid these walls again. School is out, and so is my life, it seems. I never knew how restrictive these walls were until I experienced LIFE. I never knew what existed outside, until I let myself open up like a flower in the cool months of April. Whenever that flower has blossomed it never does close up – it only spends its time sulking and wilting….It always turns its head toward the sunlight. It always smiles in the summer rain. It loves being around all other types of flowers and it doesn’t like when night comes.  Flowers are a lot like humans.

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