Sisters of the World

Laura always says I call everyone I meet, my soul something (soul friend, soul mate, soul manager) but it is true that I have met soul sisters in every face of the earth but when you were wearing that baby blue scarf the other day, two days after when you handed in your three years' worth of work. You were exhausted on the fourth day but still, you came. 

Let me remind you, you were light as that sky, but whenever they made a business out of your rock and claimed it to be theirs, they forgot that God made that rock too. Whenever your faith stood puzzled in between the whistle of your doorstep and up to the rooftop of your spine, I stood bare shoulder in the front room wishing for a better view. But that time when the ignorant old belief took a sword out on your baby blue, it left me black and blue...

First, the American Dream got trickled down through the world.

Second, it opened the door for one sheep to enter.

Third, a flock of fears were peeping through the window.  

But I only remember the Fourth day when you came.

You missed the Swedish snow and you were sad that winter. I was sad the same winter because, in the distant land, the wind failed to caress the bones of the brothers who still wanted to go home. So, when the ice melts the beauty of the flakes do not let the cold world put a brake on your heart's song instead close your eyes and sing that unique blues, if not for you, at least for those brothers...

Before that, I tried to find God in many places but every point on the map led me to see the same face. She woke up at seven streaming through the scooters on her high heels of hope to bring the three semesters of harvest in. Six thousand miles away from her, when you chose a pink board because I said ‘pink is a happy colour', I forgot to mention your baby blue brought as much joy to me that day.

I am writing on, coincidentally or NOT, the same joy that my sister gave it to me which my cousin left it for her, so it already had a mark on its first page. I carried that mark around the world but failed to write that my heart got broken by the same boy twice. He took a slice of my song because he found his dream on the other girl and I could not complain when the other girl took a slice of my song… It was hard to recognise that the other girl just came with a different name but my ego had to die multiple deaths and forgiveness had to find its place. So, I decided not to mourn for the death of my ego anymore instead I woke up and wore the same heels my sisters wore on the other side of the world and I marched down those squiggly lines...I, too, wanted to bring the harvest in. 

We were celebrating the fourth day when we laughed at the way your sister held her chopsticks although I sensed sad instrumental at the corner of a sushi when her miso soup refused to make the flower out of its taste but the soup curled and danced to make a song of itself because someone was paying attention to its every move. So, when Laura excused herself, you asked if she was okay but you were not feeling that well, either. 

In between the picnic of working Sunday and several metaphors, I was sitting at the bus stop when the old couple gracefully made their way. I saw the youth in their eyes looking forward to the best days that were yet to be; at that time the American Dream didn't matter and neither did the Fourth day because this was the day the woman was wearing the baby blue silky dress draping that bus stop and my heart with springs of symbols enough for me to realize that I have always been in the right place. 

So, I pray that your scarf will always act as a shield of cotton filtering out the voices of those ignorant swords. But I guess you already knew, that second, when that old belief took her sword out on you, she was pointing it at her own head... because even when you were exhausted, you still came.