Something Beautiful

I saw something beautiful as I stared off into space in the library.

There was an old little nun seated behind a large book she seemed to be studying for some important purpose. After many minutes elapsed, she shut the cumbersome volume and her eyes. She exhaled and slowly made the sign of the cross. She sat with her bony fingers tightly intertwined as if she was holding onto something with all of her being. I had never seen anyone pray that way in all my years as a missionary kid or in my entire time at this Catholic university. She prayed as if she were all alone with God, even though she was in the middle of a very crowded library. She didn't seem to be asking God for help with the book since she was finished with it. Rather, she seemed to be thanking Him for the gift of the knowledge inside. Her face, when she emerged from her prayer, seemed unwrinkled and young for a split second and I envisioned her as a younger form of herself as she calmly rose from the table to return the book to the shelf.

How often do we thank God for the knowledge at our fingertips?

In that moment, beauty was simplicity.

untitled.

Hi, I’m them.
Those people.
That problem.

Throw money at me so I can succeed?
No.
You’re not fulfilling my real need!

Accept me to college
Fill my head with knowledge
But the first thing we will all acknowledge:
I am a them.
Part of the they.
I hear that shit every day.
“Do you speak Mexican?”
“Oh, I love tortillas!”
“I bet your name is Maria!”

So maybe it is Maria...

But until you try and cure my so called ignorance,
Cure yours.
While you demand that foreigners learn what is it to be American
Learn what it is to be Mexican, Chinese, African, or Puerto Rican.
Educate yourself, beyond the bookshelf.

Try learning about me
Instead of dealing with my race.
Look me in the face
Misconceptions?
Those I’ll be happy to erase.