Dear Mama, dada
I don't think about you during the day, when I'm walking around the city, trying to navigate my way around, being cautious and vary of the people around me.
I don't think about you when I walk into a cafe and decide to get a coffee, only to realize this is Italy, and that caffe literally means black coffee.
Dear Mama, dada
I don't think about you when I'm sitting in one of the numerous piazzas around the city and marvelling at the architecture and rich history that dwells in these buildings that are as old as time.
I don't think about you on my way to class, nervous and anticipating what my teacher and classmates will be like.
No, I don't think about you at all. Not once, throughout the day.
But at the end of the day, when the world sleeps, and the piazzas are all free of the bustling tourists, I kneel at the bottom of my bed, and my first prayer up to heaven is for you both.
I think about all those years growing up. Of running for the bus to school, or going window shopping, or going out for sizzlers every chance we got.
I think of the love that the two of you brought me up in. Sometimes too much, feeding the spoilt child in me.
But most of all I think about how I would not be who I am today- independent, daring and ambitious- if it wasn’t for the two of you.
So no, I don't think about you throughout the day, because I'm so busy chasing my dreams like you taught me to. But it doesn't matter. Because no matter where I am, however near or however far, our lives, our souls, our hearts and our breaths are intertwined.
We are one.
Dear Mama, dada.
I miss you, I love you. And I'm out here doing you proud.