Posted by: jolantru | December 11, 2011

Path Of Kindness: Five

My words flow on paper. Mornings tend to bring something out in me. I find myself dreaming, drifting away from my lessons. I write in curls, loops and contours, much like Dongzhen’s wire gifts. I see the words, taste them on my tongue.

The languages of Terra merge and become their own here. I hear and taste the languages (like thick cream): englis, huayu and rampai – sea salt, malt sugar and cool water. We are taught to write in the romani of englis. Mother insists I learn huayu, pictographs and strokes. Most of us speak rampai and write in romani. Huayu is an undercurrent in the sea of my life. I am made up of all these …words.

I watch my words, my voice, dip, swirl and loop on the paper bought from the local maker. The aromas of early lunch seep into the tiny classroom. Steamed buns. Hints of roast meat and vegetables. The familiar fried-oil scent of oyster fritters.

Should I visit the City or go on my own, into the Innerland where my father’s family resides? Shu’s words come back to haunt. Perhaps, if I do travel into the Innerland, my gift would eventually emerge, like a caterpillar from a cocoon. I am a late bloomer, hiding until bam! My gift is revealed to the world, Mother would be proud and I would breathe more easily.


I hang up another braid of colored thread. It is my personal ritual, going to the tree. I listen to the ssh-ssh-ssh of the breeze whispering through the needles and the hanging wishes.


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