As Sage watched the world beneath her shrink into a thousand diamonds, a prayer ran through her mind. This was not a plea to God for safety, nor a cry in desperation — as its many predecessors have been — rather a humble request. The lyric of a hymn to the immaculate Mother surprised the girl as it sounded from her mind, seemingly from dormancy. Seeing her motherland disappear from the airplane window, she repeated the words to herself, placing weight in each one.
I beg that you’d watch over the land of my birth.
Just three short weeks ago, these words would have been a hollow title, a happenstance. Birth was merely the event that started the string of chaos that followed. After a lifetime of detachment, Sage did not expect to find herself sentimental over this vaguely familiar notion: national loyalty. But the knowledge was there, deep beneath the layers of denial, that this was the country that generations of her ancestors have lived, loved and bled for, the one her parents called home: the land of her birth.
Hearing her mother-tongue spoken freely around her— without a moment of hesitation— drew out sadness that she hadn’t know persisted. For these last few hours, in this plane full of strangers, she will not be a minority. She is amongst countrymen.
The right to belong may be one Sage gave up — voluntarily at times — but the girl sought comfort in knowing she will always be entitled to her motherland: the land of her birth.
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