On march 31th 2003 Asmat brought a baby girl into the world.
But what she didn’t know was that the next couple of days would define the future of her precious girl.
Was Asmat’s love enough to raise such a delicate being in her home country that was in shambles?
Or was it time to say goodbye to the thing she cared most for?
Her hand the size of my fingers,
Her smell is so sweet, ambrosial.
Her eyes opened, and looked right into my soul.
I knew at that moment, that this little one was special.
I had to give her up, but how?
Would I be able to live with myself?
Leaving this child alone in this miserable world of hate and anger.
“Deda” or mother: A woman in relation with her child or children.
Was this woman really my mother?
This stranger I know nothing about?
This woman who I presume dead because of some stupid lucid dream I had?
This woman who biology says is my mother may be dead, but she left me.
She left me to be raised by a couple she doesn’t even know!
Whose customs are so different from ours!
In this god awful world where people are shot because of the color of their fucking skin, because of their religion, because of their god damn sexual orientation.
Did she know that her daughter would be one of the oppressed?
Did she have that motherly instinct to send her away from her homeland, into unknown land, where she MIGHT be accepted for who she is?
Asmat’s daughter, once so fragile, so little.
Her daughter is trying to comprehend what the hell happened.
Why did her so-called “mother” do this?
She couldn’t of known what her daughter would go through
All the hate, depression, anxiety, death.
But her daughter always wondered,
“What would life be like, if I was there?” she asked herself,
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