Remember that time when we walked in the park and saw the man with the big balloons?
I asked: Can I get the red one?
You said: Ok
I asked: Can I also get the green one? The yellow one? The blue one? The Purple one?
I couldn’t get all the balloons inside my room, so I slept on the couch outside, holding them in my hand all through the night.
That was my world. It was a joyful & happy place.
Your little girl isn’t little anymore. Her world is barely the same.
The violent scenes in movies, I was once not allowed to watch, are now the reality I’m not allowed to escape.
I look around, I see people who lost their home, and still do not have the right to start a new one.
I look around, I see people who lost a beloved one for no justified reason, only a fact that they have to live with.
I look around, I see people not being their true beautiful selves, because acceptance and tolerance are sometimes uninvited guests.
I look inside of me I see all of these people. They are my family, my extended family, my friends, my friends of friends, my neighbors, my commute companions, my city citizens, my strangers, my community and my world.
I wasn’t raised a quitter, I was raised a warrior.
Maybe there is sorrow in my heart, but there is also love.
Maybe there are tears in my eyes, but there is also light.
Maybe the world is not a perfect place, but a possible journey of change & hope, walking hand in hand, like we once walked in the park.
And what is change, if not us? What is hope, without us?
We shall never give up.
I shall never give up.
Picture: NYC subway.