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,
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.. :)