by. Nizie Lokman Dear Lil’ Nizie, We are moving again. Another city, another country. With teary eyes, the silence of my heart, I have to start all over again. Do you remember that these were the three sentences that came out of you, a week ago in front of your class? The 8-year-old eight year old you told a story about a little girl who doesn't have a home. Do you also remember how you braved every inch of strength you had in you to tell that story? You did it. Every pain of sadness rushed out like a squeezed sponge. You felt free. A sense of healing came deep inside your heart. After the last of your revelation, you stood silent. You looked down on the palm of your hands. It's sweaty, and you were nervous about their thoughts about you. As you lifted your head and looked forward, the teacher and all your classmates of the second grade class in Monta Loma Elementary school, smiled right at you. You felt something special. For the first time in your life, a group of people stood up from their chairs and clapped their hands for you. It was a supportive cheer. They loved your story. Debbie hugged you. Then Caroline, Larz, and before you knew it, all of them walked to you and gave you a group hug. ”I feel sad to see that you had to leave your friends back home. But we are here now.” Brian said. He continued. ”We are your friends here in Mt. View. We will have a lot of fun together.” Just at that moment, a warm feeling inside sat comfortably in you. You are not alone anymore. Amy broke your thoughts. “Don't worry, Nizie. I am your friend. Like you said, home is not just a place, but it's how you make a place, a home. We are your homies.” With all excitement, your whole body responded to this feeling. Your heart spoke to your mind. From now on, you want to tell more stories so that others feel what you feel. Tell us more about Malaysia, someone asks and breaks the silence of your thoughts. I started talking to them.
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