when i told my mom i want to make her proud, and that what i said was the truth, she disregarded me every time. she said, more than anything, she wanted me to be good.
and of course, i disregarded what she said as well, being under the impression that she’s my mom and no mothers would want their child to be a fugitive, or i guess, a bad person. even now, i would go as far as to say that she might not even understand how important her words are to me, but i’m always thankful that she said it nonetheless.
it might not even be the first time that i’m writing about this. i must’ve wrote about this before, and for a couple of times at that. but in 2014 i find myself again being drawn by the gravity by what it means to be good. the choice to be a little kinder, and a little softer to your friends and even to the people who you’ve only met for the first time today, knowing that they must have their own cross to carry is very much a humbling and maturing experience. i wake up everyday being a lot more grateful than i ever was, and happier.
and if it makes any sense at all, it makes me feel more real. real was not how you were born, but what happened to you. when you know that you love people, and that people love you… and maybe it’s just me but i’ve been walking around with my heart on my sleeves and i don’t mind being hurt… because you know that no one will intentionally try to hurt you, and that the people who do are people who are themselves confused on how to heal the wounds that wouldn’t dry.