Her eyes looked bloodshot red. I wasn’t sure if it were allergies or had she been crying all night, all year or perhaps all her life. Somehow all the anguish she endured was finally manifesting through her physical body. When I looked at her, I also felt the anguish.
I remember when she got punched in the chest by her mother— punches of insecurities, self-misery from being rejected–it was her fucked up and lost way of crying for help, for she was never taught that it was ok to ask.
But through the beautiful colors of corn, peas, shredded carrots and beets, sliced tomatoes and cucumbers, she found her sense of purpose—making beautiful trays of salads. You might say, “What the fuck, that is her purpose?” That is where you missed it: You too can create!
Dedicated to one of my many aunties, who goes un-noticed, everyday.