sweetyrajotiya

Living blind can turn a simple grocery run into an altar call. Enter good Samaritan: no introduction, just a hand on my arm and a prayer for my sight, my wholeness, to be restored. Am I not whole? My eyes took early retirement, but that doesn’t make me tragic, less than; I am a collage of scars and stories, of train rides and tea leaves. I’ve had a good life, a hard life, a full life. Today, I can’t find it in me to gently correct her; in society’s eyes, I am made invisible one moment and spotlighted the next, ready either to stand back or stand out. The pressures imposed by ableism, by