Irrational Thoughts

Stranger in My Reflection

Stranger in My Reflection

By: San Kim

I am from dirt roads and blackened homes

Hard work and dedication

Where luxury is not even part of the equation

I am from dirt under nails, hardened soles, and muddy feet

Chasing chickens, herding goats, and climbing trees as sport

I am from starry nights and roasted corn with strong winds

Summer evenings spent with family and laughter-filled air

I am from heavy rain on the metal roof singing a lullaby day and night

Patches on pants, and playing with bottle cap toys

I am from rationing daily meals, and corn husk dolls

River rock games and haunted roads

I am from mountain side homes, and m i l e s and m i l e s of trees

Cicadas at dawn, and stone slates filled with chalk

I am from black oiled hair, lingering smell of thanaka, and bright red lips

Church on Sundays,

dirt on longyis,

And stained collared shirts

I am from a place forgotten by everyone, and ignored by all

I am from the Village of Gamngai,

forgotten country Burma,

and silently bleeding Myanmar.

And yet, how could this be?... I claim to be from

dark blades of green, geometric buildings, and bright moving pictures

I left and didn't bother looking back

Having little to none turned into overwhelmingly too much

Hearing the silent cries of my roots, my mind wanders

Just hovering enough to linger but never enough to stay

The ever-familiar sound of drumming on the roof goes

drip-drop-drip-drop..

so gloomy and so dull, yet I still adore it

The foreign words roll off my tongue so lovingly and so free

but what is foreign and what is not?

Once but forgotten memories resurface and disappear just as fast.

Memories of holding a rough, experienced hand as I walk on gravel roads

Other children taunt and point while hiding behind their families

Traveling for days with only the clothes on my back

Wishing for food to satiate the hunger

But I am a child of the Sukte Beh; What of suffering would I know right?

No one truly sees as they have all turned a blind eye to us

For my blood is tainted so my existence is irrelevant

Who is the stranger I see in the glimpses of my reflection?

I pass by her every day...

She stares at me, and I her.

Only left to wonder... where does she reside, and where is her home?