I spent most of the morning washing my clothes. I even decided to wash the sheets, which I’d been putting off; I hate washing them because they’re big and heavy and hard to clean. After I had washed everything and began putting my sheet on the clothesline, the wire snapped and all of my just-washed clothes fell into the dirt.
Sometimes I want to talk about all the times my clean clothes got dirty. I want to be share all of the bad things, because often times they are what I focus on. I think that the story I share isn’t honest, and I wish I could tell all of you the truth.
If I could write an honest blog post, there are a lot of things I would say. I would talk about all the times I’ve felt alone. I would talk about how stupid I feel all the time for not being able to say things, and sometimes not saying them even if I am able to. I could write for hours about all of my failures, struggles, and frustrations‰Û_
But I won’t. Because that’s not really all that honest.
You see, I could take the other extreme and write a fairytale about Senegal. I would talk about how the afternoon walk I took with my two year-old sister, passing hand-in-hand under monstrous baobab trees, past fields of yellow flowers, and beside herds of cattle. I would tell you how when she got tired on the way home, I picked her up and she fell asleep in my arms. I would paint a picture of me sitting at my neighbors’ house, helping prepare food, everyone laughing at a joke I made in Wolof, coffee cups in their hands as they took a small break.
I would try to write a funny story about eating the king of Crete for Christmas Eve. King Minos
