for you, but mostly for me
Sometimes, I convince myself that I don't deserve the things that I have or the things that I want. It's stupid & irrational but it's there all the same.
flickr: linda gaulke
But this is what I know:
The cadence of Kinyarwanda no longer leaves me disoriented & lonely.
Sometime between before and now, understanding all of the words lost its importance. The rhythm and patterns of speech are comforting now, familiar. It is best when it is sung, the somber prayers and joyful hymns, but especially the heavy beats of hip-hop, the club songs that get stuck in your ribcage, pressing pleasantly between bone and heart.
It's better still when he sings it to me. And sometimes, he'll translate it into words that are as easy as breathing for me (but less so for him). That part is less important though because I already understand. Through song (through his voice), I can feel the meaning.
--
I was always headed here. Every job I've had has involved children & it is the same for him.
Just before we crossed the noisy street while walking toward city-centre, he told me the best part is watching each of them change into someone less forgotten & more determined. I agreed. If nothing else, he and I, we have that in common.
Then he gently closed his hand around my wrist, holding me back (because he knows these chaotic streets far better than me) & I was grateful because sometimes I forget to think (forget to breathe).
--
I can feel the way this place (these people) are changing me. I hope this new person I am becoming can learn to push the fear away & finally (finally) let what I know lead me in deciding what I want.
--
It's been seven hours since I left his city. I miss him already & haven't yet decided what that means.
flickr: linda gaulke
But this is what I know:
The cadence of Kinyarwanda no longer leaves me disoriented & lonely.
Sometime between before and now, understanding all of the words lost its importance. The rhythm and patterns of speech are comforting now, familiar. It is best when it is sung, the somber prayers and joyful hymns, but especially the heavy beats of hip-hop, the club songs that get stuck in your ribcage, pressing pleasantly between bone and heart.
It's better still when he sings it to me. And sometimes, he'll translate it into words that are as easy as breathing for me (but less so for him). That part is less important though because I already understand. Through song (through his voice), I can feel the meaning.
--
I was always headed here. Every job I've had has involved children & it is the same for him.
Just before we crossed the noisy street while walking toward city-centre, he told me the best part is watching each of them change into someone less forgotten & more determined. I agreed. If nothing else, he and I, we have that in common.
Then he gently closed his hand around my wrist, holding me back (because he knows these chaotic streets far better than me) & I was grateful because sometimes I forget to think (forget to breathe).
--
I can feel the way this place (these people) are changing me. I hope this new person I am becoming can learn to push the fear away & finally (finally) let what I know lead me in deciding what I want.
--
It's been seven hours since I left his city. I miss him already & haven't yet decided what that means.