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47
THE TONGUE THAT BROUGHT ME UP
<p><br/></p><p>That soft, sorting tone, the high pitch and low chords,it runs. The best sound I have ever heard, yet I barely speak. It is like music to my ears, my own Morse code. It is the sound of my motherland, a part that embodies the whole. It carries our story, our identity, our life. Can't you see? It's my mother's language.</p><p>Yet, held in all its beauty, we despise her and hide her. Many of her companions are lost, many hidden, many now broken. While she lives on, it is the voice of my ancestors that echoes within.</p><p>In her, I found safety. In the midst of the crowd, she held me up high. She stood by me at my lowest. She taught me what it means to be me, and what it means to guide. She was the light I needed all along.</p><p>So I will speak,not because my lips move, but because I need to keep her alive. She lives only when we live.</p><p>Happy International Mother Language Day.</p>
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