i envy my friend, jane.

i envy my friend, jane

who still knows her family well

sees her grandmother every sunday or so 

after a routine trip to the supermarket and stroll down the block.

her grandmother witnessed jane fall in love,

study abroad in spain and italy,

coming back with treasures to share with her.

jane got to grow into womanhood

with the very root of her family alongside.

a guidebook full of do’s and dont’s

those decades and generations

presented at her fingertips. 

giving sense to jane

why she is who she has came to be. 

i envy jane most of all

more than any other girls.

never for the superficial reasons

but for the very irreversible fact in which

i will never know my grandmother.

my last shared moments were scarce

with little understandings of the very vibrancy of life

too youthful to process what is being lost in the truest form.

the trait i remember most of my grandmother growing up 

was her urgency to protect me from the terrible world.

now that i’m immersed in the shaky territory of adulthood,

i will never be able to look in her eyes,

the exact glossy eyes that gave me my own,

and chat about the nonsense of society unfiltered.

this is what i envy jane for.

i will never know my grandmother as a human,

one with a perspective that i will be able to comprehend

and maybe even disagree with at times. 

i wish more than anything to sit with her today and just

simply talk about the way life goes.

i have come to peace with my rage, my jealousy. 

no days will come where i can see my grandmother as a person. 

one who spews political opinions or thoughts about my wardrobe.

the woman that crafted me into who i am will forever be a mystery. 

all i have are passed down superstitions and faceshapes.

meanwhile every sunday jane gets to dance in my unattainable fantasy. 

all with no idea what gift she even has.