Talking was so easy. It felt like It was what I was born to do. Started from gu gu gaa gaa to reciting the Declaration of Independence. Speaking was the icing on the cake, of my life. Little did I know that my cake would go stale. My cake became bittersweet when my grandma turned into my guardian angel. I was brought back down to earth and became the size of an ant. My voice was gone with the wind, my heart a ran over child by a train at full speed. Speaking became the struggle of my everyday life.
Mute, that’s what I was and still am on the day she died. Days, weeks, months it took for me to find my broken heart. Speaking was too much for me to handle, so I expressed myself through poems, talked through text messages and white bards. That was my attempt to getting back into the swing of everyday life before my heart exploded.
Being a female just makes it harder because I sometimes tend to wear my emotions on my sleeves. Then one day out of nowhere I spoke. The words flowed of out my mouth like bullets from a gun. Fast and back to back, like a new discovered bread of animals. Rushed out, a little misfired, but accurate all the same. The words came out and my life seemed back on track. For now at least.