Oh, I am shy.
I am shy and I am embarrassed.
Too timid and too contained for public professions of love.
I hope this comes across to you as eloquently as it does in my mind, with all of the frill and excitement of all the greatest of movies, with all the beauty and containing every metaphor of the greatest of novels. You see, I need to explain myself to you.
And I need you to understand, above all else, and really, it’s important for you to know, above all else, that my original sentiments do not reflect the ones I feel now:
It was not always love. Or respect. Or even the childlike wonder I sometimes feel creeping back.
And yes, that hate and neglect was deliberate,
And I only have a few regrets.
I have my reasons. I wanted to be able to embrace you with the same fervor and passion as those around me. As my family had. As you were expecting. As I was expecting.
You remained indifferent. Cold. I learned of love this way- an internal, agonizing wait.
And I am too shy.
And I am too contained.
And I did not know.
And I felt so discouraged and embarrassed of all of this- turning into the stereotype I so often spoke out against. The volatility characterized in every telling and retelling of us.
And so I buried all of that resentment down inside of me.
And I thought that if I let it ferment in the warmth deep in my soul, it would mature into something beyond my comprehension. That I would have no choice to embrace you. You, no choice to embrace me back. That as I aged and grew, you aged and grew within me all the same.
It did not happen this way, as it usually does. As I expected it to. As I believed it to.
The non-traditional daughter of traditional parents, who, in their perfection, raised two darling sons previous. What happened?
And I was a disappointment to myself. To them, too sudden of a change. Which in turn, gave me a realization: I came to reject you entirely: a way of mimicking your indifference. My internal protest.
I cannot say sorry enough,
I know that I do not have to.
Eventually, things changed.
I cannot remember when it happened. Or how. The reasons as to which or the even the build up. I cannot place a blame or give a thanks. I just know that it took a considerable amount of time- that I lived a life of oblivious rejection for too long before it finally happened.
It may have been by force. It may have been desperation. It may have very well been the little things, built up over time. Fermenting inside of me.
Complete immersion into cultural arts. The origin of my name. The struggle of my father. Of my mother. Of my people. The beauty in tradition. The beauty in changes in tradition. The way learning more about you was like travelling to a new place. I could explore you freely, without fear, like a newborn seeing the world.
Oh and all that you taught me! Fasting is to be done periodically. Prayers are to be chanted when needed. Love is to be given out unconditionally, as difficult as that may be.
And while the flow of writing of both those previous and those to come runs neatly along professions of love, sung out loud so every ear across the world may ring from the hummmmmm of each word,
Well, I am too shy and I am too embarrassed.
And so, this is my apology and this is my thank you, all at once. This is what I have grown into. This is what I am still learning to grow from. All of this, from you, to you.