Wounded Wings

I was the only Palauan in my college classrooms

Empowered but also

Intimidated. Nervous. Scared.

I felt small.

Despite the fact I hailed from the largest ocean.

I had resilience in my blood but was afraid to use it.

Imposter syndrome was like a stubborn tick I couldn’t get rid of.

I wasn’t as smart as them.

I thought to myself, could I ever catch up?

I couldn’t give my ancestors hope just to give up.

I descended from a line of women who stood their ground and danced with pride.

What seems impossible to reach for

A woman from an island can be achieved.

Yet that was still not enough for me to feel I belonged.

I couldn’t.

My heart belonged back home.

Yet still I trusted.

I was exactly where I was meant to be.

Our voice, our words, our songs

Carry our culture and identity.

When our mothers cry

Our ancestors roar.

When our children speak up

Our ancestors rejoice.

And with the sun, we rise

And so, with the moon.

Set our sail to explore

What’s beyond the sea

And what’s within.

Hope that our children and theirs

Have a place to call home.

An identity to embrace.

I get to take the steps my ancestors couldn’t.

It is because of them I can do

Anything I set my mind to.

Step into rooms their footprints guided me to.

Because they fought and survived

Led by heart and mind,

Traces of their bravery planted seeds

Of hope and courage

For us to dream, to live, to thrive.

Their pain endured,

So that their children

Could have peace.

Their pain silenced,

So that their children may achieve.

You tell me to describe dignity.

Dignity is my mother, her mother

And her mother’s mother.

Who cry in the dark

And keep their head held high.

Something I never truly understood

Until I had a child.

They fulfill their duties as matriarchs

Over and over to a society

That unapologetically asks for more

and more.

A home built not by bricks but

Our grandmother’s silent tears

That continue to water our peace.

Resilience sharper than a spear.

Trauma is passed down

Worn with grace. Worn like a crown.

Our sisters holding the broken pieces of our

Heart together.

Weaving us back to life

Despite feeling dead inside.

And with our wounded wings, together we soar high.