By: Leah
I don’t know you anymore. Sure, you’re the same person who used to brush my hair, taught me my ABCs, and gave me pencils when I completed my workbooks. But the person I see now is not the same person I knew when I was four years old.
No.
This person God has placed in front of me, claiming to be you is cruel. She is heartless and insensitive. She has so little love to give and yet I watch as she gives all of it to the people who are least deserving of it. I don’t know you anymore.
But maybe I never did.
Maybe I was blind. I was naive. I was younger once, right? I didn’t know right from wrong, and I finally outgrew the rose-coloured glasses. I can’t tell if my prescription is too strong or if you’ve just become blurry to me. Who will wipe at my glasses and place them back onto my temples?
I don’t know you. I take your hand in mine in salam, and I bring it to my forehead. But it feels as if I’m greeting someone I haven’t known since I was small. It feels odd. Greeting you with a smile, even though deep down it feels like I’ve been forced to shake hands with a total stranger.
You ask me who I am. How do you not remember me? You helped take care of me when I was born, or do you not remember? How you tended to my mother as she healed from bringing me into this world and you held me in your arms. I’m twenty now, or did you assume I was still in high school? I graduate in a year, or do you not even care?
“Belajar lagi ke?” You ask me. I know what you're hearing isn’t what it used to be, but can you hear my heart breaking? I don’t know you anymore, but you don’t know me either. So I guess that makes us even.
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