I have always considered myself a child of the sun. My skin from the Earth, the sun my nourishment. As the years have progressed, I have learned to collect the rain. To smile while my hair curls and I chill in the freshness. I have been trapped in a flood in Deer Park California wondering if we were going to make it home. I have stood laughing in tropical rains of San Salvador the country that gave me my birth. I have sweated, stranded in the humid rain of London. I have played with children in the heavy rains of Zimbabwe. Today all those memories returned to me as I looked out the window. Someday I might own another tin roof. I am forever a child of the sun collector of rain.
I went out the door and greeted the drops that had led me in a torrent to my destination. The dull roar of the crowd and the smell of fresh coffee comforted me as I tried to find the unknown. There was a warm orange hew in the air that resembled sunset. The children giggling near the table on the right inspired smiles. The walls were covered with pictures of faces, events, tales that deserved to be up on walls for people to see. I ordered my Chai tea.
I did not think of what I was going to encounter or who. I wished to not premeditate anything. I planned to arrive and tell a story, our story, with nothing else expected but to present whom I am. I turned the corner to look for a glance or a connection with someone. I instantly caught two sitting at a round table, Matt and Cory. They carried a light spirit. I introduced myself and sat down in front of them.
My mind began to document. Remember this day Georgina. Remember the smell, the sounds the light. Remember the excitement in your heart. Mark this day down in you mind.
I have carried with me all my life a treasure. I am a warrior of ancestors past. I know of my capability of fight and my will to take action. The details of my journey to have been unknown. I come from a line of strength. My birthplace filled with the turmoil of civil unrest. My people with the hearts of passion and deeds. We are survivors of struggle. I know I am to take a role of guardian. I am to take on a project larger than myself for the greater good and for my children in representation of my people.
A month before I had read an article that contained a job announcement for a bilingual writer researcher position. I love to write. I did not need another job. I have two. However, I have vowed to continue to change and evolve every two years and develop another part of my person. My curiosity and intent were on this position. I had not heard a response and had discarded the possibility. The surprise when I found the response was overwhelming. It was not the fact that they had responded, but it was the fact that the position was to write about the history of my nation and the humanity of two refugees.
All my worlds came together, in this moment, in this time, in front of these two individuals. The world spun and tossed me into that chair facing the back of the Bi-Partisan cafe to tell the story I knew so well. The story I live everyday.
Then within the rhythm of the blood that ran through my veins, the voice of my grandmothers began to fill my spirit. There it was the same song of my childhood. The notes flowed as I became more vulnerable. My hopes of what may come are not concrete. I delight in the fact I was allowed to share again. I know I am headed in the right direction. The tangible events are that I found the opportunity to tell our story again and I had a great cup of spicy Chai tea in the middle of a stormy day.
The coincidence of how I found this project lead me to believe I am on some right path. That my warrior spirit continues on its journey. That once again I have been summoned from the past. That someday the story of my people may be worthy to be up on walls for people to see.
I went out the door and greeted the drops that had led me in a torrent to my destination. The dull roar of the crowd and the smell of fresh coffee comforted me as I tried to find the unknown. There was a warm orange hew in the air that resembled sunset. The children giggling near the table on the right inspired smiles. The walls were covered with pictures of faces, events, tales that deserved to be up on walls for people to see. I ordered my Chai tea.
I did not think of what I was going to encounter or who. I wished to not premeditate anything. I planned to arrive and tell a story, our story, with nothing else expected but to present whom I am. I turned the corner to look for a glance or a connection with someone. I instantly caught two sitting at a round table, Matt and Cory. They carried a light spirit. I introduced myself and sat down in front of them.
My mind began to document. Remember this day Georgina. Remember the smell, the sounds the light. Remember the excitement in your heart. Mark this day down in you mind.
I have carried with me all my life a treasure. I am a warrior of ancestors past. I know of my capability of fight and my will to take action. The details of my journey to have been unknown. I come from a line of strength. My birthplace filled with the turmoil of civil unrest. My people with the hearts of passion and deeds. We are survivors of struggle. I know I am to take a role of guardian. I am to take on a project larger than myself for the greater good and for my children in representation of my people.
A month before I had read an article that contained a job announcement for a bilingual writer researcher position. I love to write. I did not need another job. I have two. However, I have vowed to continue to change and evolve every two years and develop another part of my person. My curiosity and intent were on this position. I had not heard a response and had discarded the possibility. The surprise when I found the response was overwhelming. It was not the fact that they had responded, but it was the fact that the position was to write about the history of my nation and the humanity of two refugees.
All my worlds came together, in this moment, in this time, in front of these two individuals. The world spun and tossed me into that chair facing the back of the Bi-Partisan cafe to tell the story I knew so well. The story I live everyday.
Then within the rhythm of the blood that ran through my veins, the voice of my grandmothers began to fill my spirit. There it was the same song of my childhood. The notes flowed as I became more vulnerable. My hopes of what may come are not concrete. I delight in the fact I was allowed to share again. I know I am headed in the right direction. The tangible events are that I found the opportunity to tell our story again and I had a great cup of spicy Chai tea in the middle of a stormy day.
The coincidence of how I found this project lead me to believe I am on some right path. That my warrior spirit continues on its journey. That once again I have been summoned from the past. That someday the story of my people may be worthy to be up on walls for people to see.
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