I write this as an outsider, as an observant visitor whose everyday appetite devours your plethora. I’d like to share my honesty about your children, your inhabitants who I have seen demonstrate raw humanity. I understand they misbehave – all flawed humans do – but for the most part, their core means well. They adore you; your residents speak so highly of you it begins to haze into a grandiose pride that will never quell. But fear not, an inexhaustible pride would be my exact sentiments. And even though their love may not always be obviously demonstrated, there are moments such as the 19th of September, in which your parenting skills shone.
Continue reading ➞ El Día de los Muertos
You are: generous, jubilant, quirky, avid and a tenaciously amazing tennis player (even though I’ve never seen you play, sorry), naive, cheery, family oriented, oblivious, and the happiest person I know.
Of the many times I’ve seen you, the most momentous memories have been listening to you speak about your ancestors and the history of your country. Your storytelling time is sparse, and when you speak with much passion on the many folklore, foods, historical happenings and truths about your country your eyes glaze over, as if you yourself had seen it all unfold. And even with my insistent questioning, you always absolve my curiosity with patient answers and knowledge.
You give you give and give.
Your nature of being a genuinely valuable and good person is unique. You forgive freely and would rather let others step on you than for you to ever cause harm. Your resilience is one to envy, always snapping back quicker than a rubber-band to your usual state of peppiness, without sulking for long. I fear anyone is to take advantage of your rarity and damage you, I pray you only find and surround yourself with people who only want the best for you, people that elevate your esteem and encourage your goals.
You need support, you need positivism, and I apologize if at times I am harsh with my words, but know that it is always because I love you.
The older we get the less prevalent gifts are. Even the pair of socks we despised receiving when we were children are a glorious gift nowadays. Yet, my parents being the incredibly considerate (and slightly spoil me…) people they are, always intend on giving me something on my name day. Touching, I know. This year, as I have been doing for the past 5-6 years, I asked for nothing. I don’t need anything materialistic, I have all that I want and need, so please don’t buy me anything.
Mom: “Okay, what about a class?”
Me: *my ears perk up* (my mom has a knack for finding underground art courses that are wildly enriching and fuel my creativity), “I’m listening…”
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