What do you have to smile for? Whose freedom do you celebrate? Born against the struggles of patriarchy, I see you struggling through the reins in hands of men. Dying a lonely death, unappreciated, who do you live for, when will it end?
My mother does not speak perfect English or teach me physics when I need her to. She tells me God created the universe and one day scientists will believe it too. My mother stands alone in the heated summer of July, next to the burning flame, bringing infinite particles together to feed me.
And when she looks at me with desperation in her eyes to see me become someone she aspired to be, I understand. She does not smile for what is. She smiles for what is yet to be.