Who is the emo kid?

Who is the emo kid?
We have a white board up at work and staff members write questions on it.
I recently asked for everyone’s favorite poem. Mine is Harlem/A Dream Deferred by Langston Hughes. My co/worker was reading the responses and asked…”who is the emo kid?” when he read mine.
I wonder how much emotion one can hold in? Tomorrow is the last day of Ramadan and yes, I will caress my coffee at 8am on Eid day, I can’t help but feeling sad and missing Zakaria’s conversations at 5:30am in the morning.
My therapist asks how things make me feel all the time and will stop me if I just want you to jump to the next part of a story. I don’t like her…which, for me, means that she’s good.
Sad, that’s how I am feeling. Sad that Iowa lost but also, Dawn Staley, you are a beast. Sad that, pretty sure I won’t stay awake for the Purdue game but knowing that my nephew is there now…yeah, I am old. Sad thinking that it would have been incredible to watch Hadi watch the finals and scream out booya and smile knowing he picked that up from me.
Sad that we still are asking where the humanity is. I am more than just sad, I am angry. #FreePalestine
Sad thinking about two young men whose lives recently were taken too soon by separate auto accidents. I asked one of the family members how she was holding up….her response, “Alhumdulillah, we are heartbroken but trust in Allah’s plan”.
Zakaria and I gave condolences to one of the families yesterday. A bereaved mother. The shock clear on her face. The rawness of life.
I am waiting for Zakaria to come out of his drama class. A huge bird just flew by. I focused on Surah Mulk during Hadi’s last days at Children’s.
“Do they not see the birds above?”

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