the sand

I have a father, whether he's good or bad is entirely up to me but I have one.  I know where I get my temper from, I know where I get my strength from, I know where I get this smile and these deep brown eyes from, I also know where I get this weird habit of eating bread all the time from.  I am my father's child and somehow being his child has stopped me from ever being a woman in his eyes.  He has never called me beautiful. He has never held my hand, at least not since I learned to cross the street by myself. He has never healed a broken heart. I don't know if this makes him any less of a father depending on what the requirements are but I understand that it could possibly make me less of a woman if I let it.  The thing with women is that we need constant reminders of how amazing we are.  So dad, you calling me the prettiest girl in the world when I was two years old does not last until I'm fourteen.  Even compliments expire.  If you ask men, they'll say, "Why? You know how I feel about you" or "I already told you this."  But the truth is, that we get knocked down more often than we get built up.  For every one man that calls me beautiful, there are seven that treat me like a whore.  For every one man that respects my position of authority, there are seven more that remind me that I have none.  For every one man that I believe in, there are seven more that have lied to me.  


Women are a dichotomy of sorts.  We are very fragile, yet we are also very strong.  When I say fragile, please do not be offended or mistaken.  I am not using the word 'fragile' to mean weak.  I mean that we are fragile like sand.  Pieces of us can slip through the cracks, melt away into the sea never to be found again or go home under the feet of men who will just wash us away.  Women remind me of sand.  We are all grains of different shapes and sizes being sifted through passing hands and sticking to bodies that only wanted to visit.  But the funny thing about sand is that it's the most resilient particle in this world.  Sand sits under the sun every single day, from the beginning of time and it never melts.  It never asks for shade.  It never becomes darker even with the stress of the sun on its back.  And the water?  The water comes crashing into sand all day and all night.  The sand never leaves.  It never shies away from its beating.  It never cowers behind a tree.  It never moves.  The sand sees the water coming and even in its fragility, it shows no fear.  The shore never walks away from its water.  The sand never runs from its owns tears.  Women remind me of sand.  When people walk to the foot of the water, they compliment the blue waves and they marvel at the flow and the movement of the massive ocean.  They're amazed by the water.  It's beautiful, they say.  But the very foundation they stand on, the very foundation that carries them to the edge of the sea to look out without being engulfed, they ignore.  They walk all over the sand, annoyed by its persistence to stick to them unless of course, they want to bottle it and take it home.  They dust off the very sand they approached.  They flick their towels to rid themselves of the sand and never once say Thank You for giving me something to lean on, for giving them somewhere to lay their tired bodies now exhausted by the sun.  Never once do they say, 'Wow, this sand is beautiful.  Do you see how smooth it is?  Do you see how it never retreats from stormy waters?  Do you see how I can lay into it and it would keep the imprint of my hands, knees and toes because it knows how unique I am?  Do you see how wonderful it is that I can make castles from grains?  Damn, this sand is amazing!'  No one ever says that.  But even without a compliment, even when people play all up in the sand and leave it there to return when it's most convenient for them, the sand sits right there, devoted, never with a broken spirit, patiently waiting.  


Women are like sand.  Whether you recognize our beauty or not, that doesn't take away from the fact that it exists.  Just like the water returns to it shores, a reminder as to why you come back is always nice.  To the fathers, the husbands, the uncles, the brothers and the boyfriends, unlike water, your return to my shores are never a guarantee so if you leave, never hesitate to remind me how wonderful it was to just be there in the first place.