The Being of You

I often find myself lying straight on the mat, eyes set into the high blank ceiling as my mind projects images of what could happen or what would happen. I saw motions of rage, empathy, and grief forming across my face as I envision myself in hypothetical situations. I saw my father’s face whenever rage overtook the control of my mind. I am my father’s child after all, his unkempt and overworn facade reflected in the manner of how I raised my tone. All the tragedy passed down from my grandfather lived through him, until it gradually extended itself and made its roots on me, as if I was an extension of those who came before me.

I embrace joy in the manner of a child, in a sense of longing over things that have passed and long gone, things that used to fill my night sky like a constellation of stars on a winter solstice. Something warm and sweet that reminds me of the better days that had yet tainted me into the person I am today. Innocent enough to remind me that I too, used to be an ingenue, eyes brimming with stars as I discovered new things that eventually matured me over the time and raided me of my naivety.

I grieve in the way my mother shed her tears. In silence, discreetly, without anyone noticing. Each tear that fell into the palm of her hands uncovered each vulnerability that she had to endure silently, stripping her of her girlhood in each droplet. The warm smile she curved out of her mouth is a form of expression of how her soul had been softened, how her toughness slowly eroded by time and turned into a gentle smile that used to color her face when she was just a girl.

I blinked as the images distorted by the gleaming lunar light, softly seeping the celestial light into my visions and turned them into something more. I am a consequence of those who came before me. I am burdened by the generational curse of those who came before me. However, the light of the Moon promises me that I am my own person, and in each breath I inhaled, I stretched my heart open. In between the cracks of my beating flesh, the Moon promises a place for love for me, a place of solitude where love can slowly grow itself and eventually, promises me that I am my own person, broken pieces of vibrant mosaic tiles put together by the warmth of love.

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