Growing up, I never thought much about who Santa Claus was or even the where the elves came from. To this day, I'm unsure if my parents even celebrated any of that noise growing up in Liberia. The realization that a man would be able to shimmy through a wall heater in our apartment was believable for a bit but fizzled once I figured out there wasn't a landing pad on our roof.
The holidays have seemingly always been hard on my mental wellbeing because I've always felt as though we were the immigrant family, the poor family that many people felt sorry for. My parents, God bless them, have always done their best in order for us to not feel as though we were less important than anyone else but there I stood brooding, always with a chip on my shoulder that one day we'd escape the imagery of our lives.
I really have zero clue as to how my parents were able to deal with a child such as myself. Earlier today, I mentioned to a friend that there had to be a higher power looking out for me, knowing that I wouldn't be able to handle kids and their personas; I was and at times, still one of those kids.
No longer do I long for gifts or food, come the holiday seasons, instead I wonder as to why we have to wait in order to share our love/time with the ones we deem family. This mindset typically lands me in a bit of hot water with my dad as he thinks specific holidays are a time for the family to be together and I'm of the mindset, why wait bruh bruh, IF you want to party let's make it happen on a random day.
Anyway, this year I've found myself out in the Midwest during Thanksgiving and I'm thinking that maybe just maybe, this hotel will serve up something special for a weary traveler such as myself. It's crazy what a difference a year can make.
Yesterday, I walked out into a snow flurry and was immediately taken back to my first experience observing falling snow, back in 1994. I remember the excitement that filled my eyes as the snowflakes were falling from the sky, I sat and watched in amazement for what seemed to be an eternity. As I looked out the window, yesterday, I was amazed that the snow still had this calming effect on me.
The years have been gentle and I've been granted the ability to do so much within this life. I'm still very much so an immigrant and people still comment on the accent(s) of my parents. Through all of the trials and triumphs, I find that their love was preparing me for these moments of loneliness, these moments of solitude.
My want is to be the best person I can be and in saying this, I mean I hope to bring joy to the faces and lives of others whom I come into contact with. I'm a hopelessly hopeful romantic and within the snow and cold, I could only picture holding the hand of someone I love, care about, and telling them that I'm grateful not just on specific days which the universe tells us to celebrate the taking of other's land, instead I'm grateful for moments which keep us together.
Today, I was the very boy whom I wrote about in Letters To Flor; I envisioned myself walking to find my flower and my flower smiling back at me, while we both observed the snow beginning to fall, ever so slowly.