WHEN I GROW UP I WANNA BE JUST LIKE ‘EM
It is appropriate that I write this in the crisp of the autumn breeze, surrounded by natures beauty. You see, dear reader, the person I am about to tell you about is as creative as the autumn colors, as easy breezy as the light wind across my face and as whimsical as the leaves dancing to the ground.
Arlinda is the mother of one of my husbands friends. The gentlemen, her son and my husband were meeting to discuss a project they were working on and I tagged along with my husband. « You’ll love my mother » this co-worker said. Great I thought. I’ll just hang out with your dear old mom and listen to her give me unsolicited marital advice. We’ll watch a game show until she falls asleep on the couch and that will be my hint to gather my husband and head home. That is NOT the dear…
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I’m Quebecoise. She’s Korean.
I’m a Scorpio. She’s an Aries.
I was conceived when she was made a paper orphan.
I was bought, she was sold.
I was being born while she was dying.
I grew stronger while she became weaker.
I began to talk when she began to lose her talk.
I was given a name, she lost her name.
I was born when she was buried.
I’m not me. I’m her.
I live in her body with her memories and her ghost.
I lost my true self when I lost her.
You snatched away everything but my memories.
You penetrated me forcefully with your mother tongue, your thought and your culture
while emptying me of my mother tongue, my thought and my culture.
I speak like you.
I do things like you.
I think like you.
I have a French Canadian name.
But you reject me…
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