yet we keep going back

to that we know

will hurt.

Why?

[82:6]

"when you were born I planted a tree..."

In this story,

I am that tree 

who today presents to the world 

a hard bark

which is so very thin,

barely hiding beneath it 

the sapling still there:

soft, vulnerable, naive;

sprouted from a seed planted

so few years ago.

A tree who, on occasion, thinks

he is done growing up;

thinks he is ready to face anything 

thrown at him by the world

though he is still untested by 

her storms, her droughts, her winters.

"...now it's twice as big as me."

In this story

I grew up, but

along the way hurt you. 

Today when I look back at

those years in which I 'rebelled',

I could almost laugh at the idiocy of my own actions. 

But should I laugh,

with the knowledge that

those stupid actions made you cry?

So here we are, ma.

In this story

I now walk up the stairs 

leading to the paediatric ward,

past a window which reads:

"When you were born I planted a tree;

now it's twice as big as me."

to meet ill children and worried parents.

Parents who understand that I am not yet a doctor 

but regard me with trust reserved to one.

I don't know if I deserve that trust. 

How can I feel ready to be a doctor when

I barely feel ready to even be called a man just yet?

When I see that painted window

I remember you:

The lady who will always be 

my first best friend, 

my number one fan,

my hero,

my mother.

Happy birthday, ma

(and happy anniversary to you and papa) 😬

I hope you will be at peace seeing me continue growing up,

with the knowledge that I will always be your little boy 🙃

Love you, moosh2, assalamualaikum.. :)

work of non-fiction