The Mosaic of Life
I met this little girl several times on the court later in the evenings. The first day she stood behind the metal fense, curiously watching me. I could not hold the smile, she smiled in return. Next time she sat beside me. We could not have a conversation because we did not know each other's language.
Two weeks later she ran to meet me, again on the same place. She was all smile. Her hair was completely shaved, which made her beautiful dark eyes even bigger. She quietly sat near me. I reached out and gave her something, I think it was a silly chewing gum, the only thing I had. She accepted it and smiled.
We quietly watched the game on the court. Occasionally I looked at my little companion and she would grant me with a sincere smile.
When the game was over one of the boys translated for me that the girl's father passed away and that is why her head was shaved, according to the tradition.
I thought of life's mosaic. It is like a patchwork quilt - joy and sorrow at the border, just a thin thread separates, stitching it all together into one piece that constitutes one's unique life-destiny.
Girl's smile in the midst of loss that late evening allowed me to see one patchwork quilt. It was beautiful.
I met this little girl several times on the court later in the evenings. The first day she stood behind the metal fense, curiously watching me. I could not hold the smile, she smiled in return. Next time she sat beside me. We could not have a conversation because we did not know each other's language.
Two weeks later she ran to meet me, again on the same place. She was all smile. Her hair was completely shaved, which made her beautiful dark eyes even bigger. She quietly sat near me. I reached out and gave her something, I think it was a silly chewing gum, the only thing I had. She accepted it and smiled.
We quietly watched the game on the court. Occasionally I looked at my little companion and she would grant me with a sincere smile.
When the game was over one of the boys translated for me that the girl's father passed away and that is why her head was shaved, according to the tradition.
I thought of life's mosaic. It is like a patchwork quilt - joy and sorrow at the border, just a thin thread separates, stitching it all together into one piece that constitutes one's unique life-destiny.
Girl's smile in the midst of loss that late evening allowed me to see one patchwork quilt. It was beautiful.
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