Slow dancing in a burning room.
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REBEKAH :)17 March 92
SP Biomedical Science '13
Rebekah Lai Hui Hui
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Tuesday, September 22, 2009 @ 9:31 PM ORIGINALLY we came from our own country in a red room which fell through the fields, our mother singing our father's name to the turn of the wheels. my brothers cried, one of them bawling Home, Home, as the miles rushed back to the city, the street, the house, the vacant rooms where we didn't live anymore. i stared at the eyes of a blind toy, holding it's paw. All childhood is an emigration. Some are slow, leaving you standing, resigned, up an avenue where no one you know stays. others are sudden, Your accent wrong. corners, which seem familiar, leading to the unimagined, pebble-dashed estates, big boys eating worms and shouting words you don't understand My parents' anxiety stirred like a loose tooth in my head. I want our own country, I said But then you forget, or don't recall, or change, and seeing your brother swallow a slug, feel only a skelf of shame. I remember my tongue shedding its skin like a snake, my voice in the classroom sounding just like the rest. Do i only think i lost a river, culture, speech, sense of first space and the right place? Now, Where do you come from? strangers ask. Originally? And i hesitate. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ this poem just revived my love for literature. do you ever feel like the persona? like you're out of place, having to put on a mask, pretend to be somebody you're not, or do something because everybody does it? losing your true self just to fit in? i want my own country. |