Something flashed beneath the surface of his hardened expression and I hurried to investigate the sudden shift. It was too late, the emotion disappeared before I could identify it, like reaching desperately for an escaped balloon; the string dangling so tantalizingly close but the wind pushed it away and it's lost forever.
I originated from a cruel place. Was raised among barbaric conditions, and faced brutality. And finally, I learnt callousness. I became stone-hearted. But when my little bundle of joy arrived, a thing me and my wife made, when she came- my daughter; everything changed. She reminded me of love and bond. I couldn't let her into the world of viciousness. She was soft, and breakable, like the snow. She was was gentle, and she was my world. I knew, that if she ventured into my dark world, she would hate her own existence. I desired my daughter to have a life of positivity and satisfaction of living authentically on purpose. She was the melody of my beating heart. She gave me hope for the future. She was my life, my world- I decided, she would live a good life.
Massive amounts of wind are both music and the dance-floor for the clouds... vagrant, white and puffy as they are - playing and teasing with other clouds and moving freely in the sky as if they own freedom itself. Yet I wondered why at times they cry with fierce and sonorous thunder...
The lazy wind pushes against the unmown grass like a child sending a dandelion seeds on their way: one o'clock, two o'clock, three. Above the white wisps trail and the late spring sun brings a welcoming warmth that coats me as good as caramel over a harvest apple. My watch says it is near noon and I lay down here at ten, yet somehow my memory of the time is no more than ten minutes, twenty at the most. With a long exhale I can detect the tell tale signs that my brain is still waking from a nap, there are the vestiges of a dream, turning in nonsensical ways, grasping to remain. Then from nowhere comes the memory of where I'm supposed to be by this time and before the dream can reassert itself my feet are taking me down the knoll to the path below.
I always found forgiving myself so impossible, and so created my own emotional scars. Yet I want others to forgive themselves, to make amends and heal, and so I learned how to forgive myself. I had to earn it until I was satisfied I'd paid it all back in goodness many times over. After that I could love myself and love others; I could be a blessing to myself and others.
Cinder-ella isn't a name; it's lifelong stigma for being born poor and disadvantaged. Rather, treat me as the queen who rose upon flamed wing, and I will make you my king. I'm Bella. Beauty inside and out. I'm empathy and compassion, kindness and humble gratitude... and worthy of a warm-hearted man.
When I wake up, I bet I heard my mom yelling at me for sleeping in. But then the reality takes over my dreams. Mom's not here. The reality hits like a stab in the stomach. All I can do is take it in.
My roommate greets me with a grin in the kitchen. Some Spanish show is blaring on the TV. My dishes are still in the sink. Those have been there for so long because no one has told me to do the dishes. I sigh turning on the faucet. Growing up is all about responsibilities.
It's not doing your dishes because you'll lose your access to wifi for an entire day otherwise. It's doing it because you won't have anything to eat from otherwise.
Waking up early is not about pleasing your mother and giving her a reason to let you go out. It's about running errands that your life literally depends on.
Curfews are not for your parents to stop worrying about your safety, but you worrying about yours.
Having a job is not about saving money, it's about spending it.
I curse myself for choosing to grow up so fast all the while doing my grown up responsibilities.
"Oh, I'm going out to the party tonight. You coming?" My roommate shouts to make herself audible over the noise from the TV.
"Heck, yeah," I say.
Did I mention growing up is having fun and being free?