come here, cry beloved, for the country

A letter to the heart,

Dear heart,

A warning: you are going to cry

A correction. Sorry, this is not a warning, please excuse me as I unravel all the things I have been taught to think. I have too, like the Little Prince whose name I do not know, been around too many adults and they have confused my thinking. But you, my dear, you child of the world, you are a child at heart. And so, may we take this moment to return.

Welcome yourself in, here and to your heart, here to where it is wonderful.

(And I am sorry for the way the world has taught you that your tears were something to fear. Something too heavy. But do not fear please; for the petals cry too.)

And could I bother you with my curiosity for a moment? With my sweet and sensual heart?

Rather, could I borrow you for a moment, with my pondering pain and wandering heart?

A letter to the heart, who wants what it wants

Dear heart,

A preparation: you are going to cry.

Can we take this moment to dance together? To celebrate this sweetwater? Oh, they have not come yet? Mother knows best, and it is always good to prepare. Let us take a deep breath, child.

And your tears will be the sweet water we have been waiting to celebrate. Let me remind you of this: it is not only okay, but it is good to cry. Necessary to remember that

And do you know that flowers cry too? Look at how their petals fall. After so lovingly holding on to the things that they love, the roots, the stems, the wind, the home and all they know, and all the while resiliently holding on. Until one day, when the inevitable arrives and they no longer can. It arrives to take them away.

Child of the world,

Go pick up the petals. But leave the broken things behind.

And let yourself cry as a child would, and without consequence.

Weeping and wallowing, howling and shaking sometimes, and without consequence. Only someone to come and take you home.

Do not hide or shy away, run away from the depths. The petals will cry for us. May the petals pave a deeper path.

Dear heart, you are going to say more goodbyes than you would like to. And because of your unique and incredible capacity to love and to hold, you may hold onto the pain of those goodbyes longer than you would like to. And you will know this, sense it from somewhere deep within to let go, and you may still hold on.

The petals do not wither when they are blown away; it is a slow disintegration. Eventually, they will become dust again, and sometimes, you will sweep that dust under the rug and find its remains many year later. But maybe it will be somewhere else, remnants of the same petal in a different place; on a different street, in a different city. Perhaps across a different sea. The countries will change and your heart will always be the same. It will love the thing it loved before. If flower petals could speak (which of course they can, but not everyone is listening) they would say things like: “You are so lovely”, and “Do not forget where you came from”, and “I am alone now, but I was not always.” and ‘Wherever you go, there you are.”

I have come to write a book, I say.

I am writing a book, I brush over.

Preface:

Here it is, I wrote a book. Disjointed in its draft, but thorough in its delivery.

Chapter 1

At the foothold of my upbringing were brown women, even when my mtoher looked white. This confused me a alot

A poem I hope I find the courage to sing one day.

Title: Our of the sun

Dearly departed, look what you started

Look at the seas which were merged, and conquered

see the Moors; lands divided and then parted

Racially ambiguous

Culturally confused

Look at all this diverse energy,

All these colours and cultures you fused

They have got me into trouble

Because I am my mother’s double

Now I’m left with a passing privilege,

So I guess today I’ll choose

I know my mom likes that she looks white

And so with her curly hair she fights

But with Swedish and Portuguese fathers,

Did she even know that she could choose?

To embrace her curly hair, and ditch the GHD

I don’t think she ever saw her beauty, her extravagance, clearly

So now here is her daughter,

A little lost, and clear yet so so confused,

Sifting through old news

Observing great great gran’s letters, old content perused:

“Lentas e lentas, suas maos avaras

Vao desfiando pedriarias raras

Terco que as ondas vao rezando as vezes”

Slow and slow,

Go unravel the stones

The waves are praying for you

Racially ambiguous,

Culturally confused

Look at all this toxic energy,

Look at mama’s new bruise

I wonder if she knows, though,

That she has the choice to choose

I wonder if she knows

How to give back the borrowed,

or how to soothe those blues

My dad’s dad has angolan roots, roots in Cape Verde too

He visited me the other day, and I swear guys - this is true

He first appeared as a flickering light, and then came as a gentle moth

I knew him when i heard him, whispering in my ear,

Saying, “Calma querida, have no fear”,

But my mom thinks I’m doing black magic

And cursing the family name,

What she doesn’t see is how the foundations before me,

Were etched in so much battered pain

And blinded with the courage of a fool,

I’ll have to be the one to speak out against the cruel

And though, I still don’t know where this is going,

I know that my bravery is showing

My roots spread far and wide

Too strong I am, how could I learn this and not walk with the fool’s hopeful pride?

And though I’m still trying to understand it all,

I’m going to allow myself to laugh and cry as I answer this call

So today I choose the sun, today I choose the fun.

Please don’t think this is selfish, family, a new cycle has begun

For the hour of the sun, I honour Our daughters and Our sons

The excerpt is from rom my great grandmother’s poem, “Hora de Sol”

Which translates to hour of the sun

and to the women who grew m, wheerve they may be

“You have a story that deserves to be told,

But you will have to be strong, be courageous, be bold.

Trust your knowing and let your life unfold,

For though your body is young, your soul is so old.

Share the story of who you come from;

How some were settlers, others were sold

Because now it is your chance to turn dust into gold.

And though the path has been rocky,

Know that you are never alone,

For there are others like you, too, who spread love where they go.

And though, yes, the journey will now require you to be braver, worry not now, nor never,

For the wheel now turns in your favour”

From Courage, with love

“When courage comes to find you,

Go with her, come take her hand.

I promise you this, my darling, this will be so much better than you ever could have planned.”