@sahilslifefullofstrife
My brown skin glistens against the sunlight like still water reflects light on the surface of a lake. The golden hour is like a mirror for my people. We only see what we wish to see in our reflection. United by color, divided by shades.
My mother rejoices every time she sees me on a call. Says my skin is lighter now. She thinks I’m assimilating in the land where not a lot of people look like me. In the past this would have brought me joy. Now I wonder if dark is not a shade but just a shadow.
How do I tell her that I am amber when I’m in love, gold when I’m hungry and honey when I yearn? I believe people like to see you as they see themselves. How do I then tell her, that she is perfect no matter what shade she is?
I don’t blame her anymore. It is not easy, to be a war and the messenger of one at the same time. Yet people do it every time. Agony is only an agony when it’s your own. Otherwise it’s a lesson. And as we know, lessons are only learnt when you don’t want to. But I’ll never stop believing that we are all someone’s golden hour, someone’s lesson in acceptance and maybe someone’s in letting go. If this isn’t one of the highest honors, I don’t know what is.
My brown skin glistens against the sunlight. The question is, will anyone ever see it?
@sroomshsm
days beocome a week, weeks become a
year, years becomes a decade, and
decades become a lifetime.
in the grand scheme of things
the dishes lying dirty for a minute
longer. the rice bubbling on the stove a
little louder, the door of the fridge
cracking open a little wider
won’t matter as much as
your chai going cold before you’ve
touched it for the day.
savor your small victories, protect them,
because days become a week, weeks
become a year, years becomes a decade,
and decades become a lifetime.
