A world without buffers 

The world should be vast 

When its origin is explained to children… 

By the time I had reached adulthood,

I wanted my ideas

To engage electrical shocks

Inside of others who thought different apart from me

I wanted to shout, “wake up, wake up

Can you not see my truth?”

Yet, my truth does not solidify all truths 

The world should be like an expressway

All lanes veering into roads

That guide us to some common destination

A left turn here,

Or a right merge there…

In one of my classes,

My professor who has stringy hippy hair

Said this:

We are all trying to get somewhere

The same place…

Even if we think we’re not searching  for

The things other people say are true

I like to think that my ideas are right

Yet sometime I spend time sifting through 

Salt and sugar

Without tasting it.

I’d like to believe that education curates history and shapes new mentalities…

But sometimes I sit silently

Gnawing at the inside of my cheek

With my teeth

I make negotiations whether to be closed or open.

At times,

I am only silent

Because I just want to protect myself 

Protect my memories of where home is, the language I have learned from my mother’s stripped heritage,

And my father’s colloquial throat vibrations that have never left –

Although he has left his mother country

I am silent,

Because my fears remain that:

If I tell my story,

Some cannot possibly understand what I mean because they have not lived it

Writing is both personal, intimate but exposing 

The world I have witnessed with my eyes is not the only part of the world that exists

But for me to tell my story,

I must first wrestle with accepting that I am

I am 

I am

Because we are

We became

We quarreled 

And we spoke of how much alike we are

We are

We are in our I am’s

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