Small World

There was once a young kid, in a small world filled with poverty, a world where nobody could imagine living in, it's a world that shaped me to become the man I am today. The young had no idol and the mother was forced to handle both roles, for the father was blind to see what was going on. I remember times when my stomach itself will growl like the king of the jungle himself, who roared to send fear toward anyone who despised him. The mornings were cold but not the cold of winter but a cold that reminded us of survival. With my clothes filled with holes, I was always seen as poor child and that's because I was. Both of my parents never seeked any higher education and sometimes they've blamed me for their current situations, but as time went by I noticed sometimes they were just angry. My mom especially loved telling me what it meant to live a prospered life, a life that she desires for herself in the future. I would stare into her beautiful black skin that she always takes pride in, and realize the hardwork that she had underwent in order to make sure I survive. Even chores and errands that I had was nothing compared to hers. With my age being only 6, I was powerless and yet I would push myself. To make sure to become the son that'll be able to heal her rusty hands. Rusty hands that truly were hands of mother. This was a hardwork of a mother that cherished her child and to help me prosper because they couldn't. With the thought of that, it made me angry, frustrated, and powerless because my mother, who I dearly love, was in so much pain because of me. I wouldn't get past the reason behind that because my mind was clouded. This world is shaped different, depending on each individual. It can be seen in many different forms, living in a poor village, gave me a gift. Not just any gift, but a gift that we all have. It's a gift to grow and develop. I was never mature enough to understand my mothers hardwork back in Kenya, but without her handwork I wouldn't be sitting here alive writing this to be heard. My story hasn't been fully written, one thing is that all of our stories aren't complete, we're all in this story together and slowly paving a page after page for the life we sought. Before my story folds away, my mother herself will definitely be healed from the pain.

Coming to America was one of the turning events in my family and life. It was as if I've died and been reborn in this new world. A world where I didn't ever know existed, my whole understanding of the world began to grow. Going from a third world country into a country that was living in the future from my own, was a shocker. Especially the airplane rides brought this little shocking rush in my body. Which started from the bottom of my bare feet and upward past my neck into my brain. It felt like adrenaline itself had kicked into my life for the first time. The food itself was new, like who knew that you can have as much food and meat that you want without worrying about the supply going low. The borrito itself carried this inquisitive taste that probably made me drool a couple of times and I couldn't sleep not because of the plane ride but because I was afraid that this was all a dream. A dream that would be over if I close my eyes.

A few hours of riding in that plane, I met this lady, who seemed really kind with the soft voice that made every word soothing to the ears. She began with asking about where I'm from to explaining the whole world. Somehow I wanted to interrupt and tell her that I vaguely understood the words that she was uttering, but since my parents always reminded me that disrupting anybody in the a conversation is disrespectful, I refrained from that behavior. Something about those words still struck with me till this day, which is life is short and opportunities are limited. See arriving in America, I seen how they're opportunities lurking everywhere. A country where some dreams are fulfilled and some wither away. It was a world that shook me at the edge of my chair when arriving in the city of New York itself. With the skyscrapers touching the clouds and the roads bustling with enough cars to lead my village out of poverty.

This wonderful lady taught me what it meant to live a more meaningful life. Not only that but she reminded me of my dear late grandma, who passed away from being poisoned by her farm workers back in 2014 late fall in October. The news of her death was shocking to the village and family. This news left a scar in my heart that can never fixed and with all the memories that flooded throughout my brain. Reminded me of the times, I sat down with her in a day that was silent yet the heat itself engulfed around us while we hid under a shade. With the civil war going in 2007, my grandma taught me that evil exists in this world and it exists it many different forms. Sometimes good people are the one disguised in this evil forms. No matter what, one must live a meaningful life and learn to avoid this evil. She taught me to be happy and never be angry for being in any tough situation because that's when the evil itself will begin to engulf the mind. This lady next to me in the plane reminded me of what powerful knowledge the elderly hold. It's a small world where I'm from, it's a world where I've learned to see the 2 different worlds and begin to pursue forward in a different path that I was meant for. You, yourself hold a dearly meaningful life and you may be faced with challenge and tough times, but remember your meant to walk a certain path and your destination has not been reached. So try not to steer off the road and lose the path your meant for. I come from Kenya and straight to Missouri, St Joseph where I spent 10 years of my life at and learned plus gained relationships that have helped me see the world in a much more sharper way. A way that I'll continue to push myself through even now I'm faced with college costs but I believe in myself, the same way I believe in you.