When I was a child in the South Pacific, the children touched our hair and called us angels; this concept brought to them by crusaders with their white god, their pure heavens. I learned something on that island I could not quite place. I wrapped my pale skin in a lavalava until it made more sense than the alternative, curled my feet in deference, revered the hibiscus. When I returned to the north, they called me gingerbread, and I thought I never wanted to be different again.
We can choose how we walk the path of our life, but we cannot map it entirely. I was given strange gifts for the journey but they are what I have now, I grew up in a life that tried to save everything but did not try to save me, these are the road signs I navigate. All I ever knew was the Word, all I ever knew was this city held a secret and that writing was the way I'd reach it.
You are here now: that is all there is. You have only the next step, where you take it. You did not pick your cards. But the time has come to play them.
So go play.
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