THE PEARL OF THE ISLES – Dedicated to my county
A time when the safety of innocence was still valued, there I spent my early days of my life in a country once called “The Pearls of the Isles.” Till this day, my treasured eclipse from my childhood, although tamed with confusing segments are embellished by the memories of my once paradise homeland; its enchanting nature was a remarkably breathtaking beauty. Looking back I recalled the varieties of mango trees, countless of coconut trees, almond and quenepa standing tall on the vast land both in the city and the country side.
Furthermore, one could easily spot acres of banana plantations and sugar canes, while overlooking the beautiful crystal clear rivers. As if starring through a glass aquarium, there were varieties of colorful fish, swirling among the multicolored stones; so clear, one could easily bend over while effortlessly reach to touch them. I can still visualize the electrified waterfalls located in various cities, where my siblings and I spent countless weekends during our summer vacation. Til this day, the fascinated world of the ocean, and its underworld treasures remained the most valuable resources of my beautiful homeland.
The blindfold yet glorious light from the sun were my daily wake up call. The melodious sound from the birds was part of my homeland daily praised to the Almighty. Endless field of colorful flowers which I called by name were greeted each day by me during my school venture. I also looked forward for the field of the butterfly world, where some of the most beautiful ones would delightfully rest on my tiny hands on my way to my God-other’s house. The yard of the gingerbread homes, where the peacocks made their grand entrance, like the queen of the land, was without a doubt my favorite spare time. And the parrots, as if they knew me by name, each welcomed my friendly smile; as they silently listen to my inquisitive mind, they often initiated some of the most remarkable conversation with those passing near. Not to forget all the countless birds from my backyard, who looked forward for their meals, which I held tightly in my hands; the cooked grains of rice preserved from my mid-day lunch.
It has been a long time since I left my country. Now in my old age, its nostalgic memories have become like a silent whisper, hunting my soul. For years, it was like a chronic illness left unattained, an urgent call which must be answered. But lately, it has been a daily reminder, as in a constant dream; yet vivid enough to live me restless.
Perhaps, my days are numbered here. My pregnancy has reached its full term, quickly approaching my delivery as a thief in the night.