rida.

“I like to think of all of my father's kids as seeds of the same wilted flower, scattered across this universe—not doomed by virtue of our breeding but, instead, surviving because we are uplifted by the forceful winds of our strong-willed mothers and the purest beams of sunshine from our rundown grandparents, who selflessly took on the burdens of parenthood again—whose labour is never done. They give up everything to make up for the man who gives nothing. They break themselves just to see us bloom.”
― Eternity Martis, They Said This Would Be Fun: Race, Campus Life, and Growing Up