God Bless The Child Who Got Its Freedom

Coming back has been some adjusting. I came back to people’s expectations; my “ex” job calling me to work literally in the first 20 minutes of coming back to ol’ faithful Montreal. I couldn’t help but feel a little deflated. I’m in a middle of a crossroad between the Old Me and the New where I refuse to be part of the system. Are we ever in complete control of our lives if we are to survive? I like to believe so. What would you do if you were giving 24 hours to do whatever you wanted? Why is it such a luxury?

The joy of travelling is getting to do whatever you want or “almost” whatever. Miles away from reminders from things that keep us down; YOU are your sole responsibility. You wear your best clothes to parade outside the exotic streets just because, you devour sugary crepes of goodness just because and dance all night ’til the sun rises just because. You live your life the way you want to. Now I’ve come back and my eyes are opened! I saw I wasn’t living fully for myself. The February 25th Samantha thought she was. This is the number one issue. We, humans don’t live the way our heart desires. Some choose to ignore our heartbeat, some choose not to. From this, we get complacent. From this, we become ungrateful for what life has to offer, hence we don’t look for a way out. (How much of this sounds like a relationship we’ve all been in?)

I may want a lot of things but one thing, for sure, is FREEDOM. Freedom to laugh out loud, freedom to live alone and not be lonely, freedom to jump and still feel safe, freedom to cry without shame, freedom to love someone without waiting for a response, freedom to help others even when they say “they don’t need it”, freedom to live my life with no absolute limit. Freedom of my state of mind. If you can say your mind is free, then you are blessed, you’s a “child who got its own” and I’m sure you went through bondage to truly know what freedom tastes like. “And what does it tastes like?”, you say. Wait! I’m about to try a piece right now!

Freedom Ticket

How can you be illumined

Trying to keep us down?

Product of slaves

Blood been spilled on the ground


He is coming.

What is freedom when the price of it is my soul?

Priceless should be on the sales ticket

“But it is!” says the Salesman,

“Isn’t who you are priceless?”

I look down.

I don’t think I’ve chiseled at me

To be sold to the highest bidder

Or the fruits of my labour

Are not sweet but turns bitter.

The choice to be a slave for some

Is keeping them from harm

So they hum,

Embrace the shackles on the arm

And argue which “Massa” is kind on which farm.

I attentively unlink

As my newfound wisdom puts me to think

I blow everything to dust

I do not rush

This testament of mine

I am it,

Taking it one day at a time.

                                                  Samantha Hinds

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