That One About Patience

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Last night I had a dream,
That Anne Frank came to me,
Guarded by an army of pencils and notebooks. She said:
When you write, write every moment of your life. You’ll never know when it might be your last. And never forget the bad moments either. Because when your greatness is there for all to see the people should know that no matter who you are life is never easy. My favorite scarf placed itself on my hands and told me. I know on some days I’ve been the crown that sits perfectly on your head.
And on others the noose around your neck.
Realize the most beautiful things in this world are hidden.
Like diamonds under rocks and coal, pearls at the bottom of the bottomless ocean sheltered by sea shells.
This world has a way of digging up these precious beings to change their shapes to a size that society deems a perfect fit.
But keep tight to me because when your time arises perhaps you can give generations after you a figure to look up to instead of figures to look up to.
Then Nina Simone with three mouths on her face appeared before me,
When she spoken it echoed more dynamically than surround sound, she said:
You have a voice, it has purpose and reason.
So use it. And when people try to silence your screams, scream louder.
Someone may understand it for the war cries of the revolution their people never got to hear.
Or the sound of your voice may drown out the sounds of gunshots and bombs that forever ring in their ears.
Soon my skin shed itself took form and told me.
We’ve had hard times, especially on days where you were never good enough because you wore me.
But never forget that I am your timeline for an ancestry of people who runs through your bloodlines.
And just know you’re not the only one who has fought this dark and light battle.
So when they try to tell you that you aren’t good enough — remind them of the melanin the resides in the skin of the greatest philosophers, engineers, mathematicians, writers and royals this world has ever witnessed.
How can you be proud of where you’re going if you aren’t proud of where you came from?
A girl, by the name of Malala Yousafzai, came before me and said:
We’re are the same age.
And of the same spirit.
We’re both wild horses who will never be tamed.
Our difference is, the education that I almost died for, you’re granted every day. So when your time comes, teach the people.
And when they try to put that gun to your head,
Let them know, that they can kill your body.
But they cannot kill your words, the ones who will look up to you, your voice, who you are and the minds you’ve touched.
If you succeed in these tasks we’ve given you, even when you do leave this world, you will remain immortal.
The last person who came to me wasn’t very familiar with tears in her eyes — she told me, You don’t know me yet because you haven’t brought me in this world.
But mommy, I’ve always known you as, a writer who has treated every word like it’s her last.
A person little girls aspire to be.
The voice for the reticent.
Someone who never forgot those who came before her as if their battle scars were your birth marks. And a teacher whose life shall live on through the minds she’s touched. But what saddens me is that you don’t know yourself like this quite yet. And the world no longer has time for your dreaming. Wake up. Your time is now.
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Written by Sadiyah Bashir.