Remembering My Rhythm

Somewhere between the noise of the world
and the weight of becoming,
I forgot the sound of myself.

Not lost,
just quieter than before.

But then…
a rhythm found me again.

In the sway of music that lives in my bones,
in laughter that rises without permission,
in the way my spirit softens
when I hear voices that sound like home.

I remember now!

I am made of more than survival.
I am made of rhythm,
of story,
of people who carried joy
even when life asked for everything.

My culture is not something I visit;
it lives in how I move,
how I speak,
how I love loudly and feel deeply.

It is in the warmth of connection,
the ease of shared understanding,
the unspoken “I see you”
in every familiar smile.

So I return
not to a place,
but to a feeling.

To joy that is mine.
To a rhythm that never left me.
To a soul that knows its way home.

Something I will not forget!