Here’s to the security guards who maybe had a degree in another land. Here’s to the manicurist who had to leave her family to come here, painting the nails, scrubbing the feet of strangers. Here’s to the janitors who don’t even fucking understand English yet work hard despite it all. Here’s to the fast food workers who work hard to see their family smile. Here’s to the laundry man at the Marriott who told me with the sparkle in his eyes how he was an engineer in Peru. Here’s to the bus driver, the Turkish Sufi who almost danced when I quoted Rumi. Here’s to the harvesters who live in fear of being deported for coming here to open the road for their future generation. Here’s to the taxi drivers from Nigeria, Ghana, Egypt and India who gossip amongst themselves. Here is to them waking up at 4am, calling home to hear the voices of their loved ones. Here is to their children, to the children who despite it all become artists, writers, teachers, doctors, lawyers, activists and rebels. Here’s to Western Union and Money Gram. For never forgetting home. Here’s to their children who carry the heartbeats of their motherland and even in sleep, speak with pride about their fathers. Keep on.
i dont trust people who are attracted to me…like why? write me a 10 page paper with a legitimate thesis and valid points backing up your claim or you fake.
The only person standing in your way, is you.
Don’t expect anyone to understand your journey, especially if they haven’t walked your path.
I always wonder why birds stay in the same place when they can fly anywhere on the earth. Then, I ask myself the same question.
YOU KNOW THAT KIND OF SPARK WHEN YOU SUDDENLY THOUGHT OF AN AMAZING IDEA ALL OF A SUDDEN? WHERE YOUR HANDS ARE EAGER AND TREMBLING TO WRITE AND JOT DOWN WHAT YOU’VE THOUGHT OF AND YOU CAN’T WAIT TO SEE WHAT IS YET TO HAPPEN IN THE STORY? YES? THAT SPUR OF A MOMENT? I FEEL LIKE THAT KIND OF FEELING…