When I was born I didn’t cry
At the time it was taken as an auspicious sign
Truly, a child to be favored by God

Even now I still don’t cry much
She says it’s because I’m strong
Even when she always said I was weak

She tells me I have a vacant look
She asks me to stop making “that face again”
And I crack it into a natural looking smile, as if to question what she could mean

I wonder if now
She looks back to that day
The day I was born

I wonder if she considers it a curse
A sign that I was sick
A defective product

I’m not sure
I could probably ask her
She keeps calling after all

No, I probably couldn’t muster the words
The muscles in my face would be too busy forcing out the usual responses
“It’s been fine, how’s it back home?” Or “no i’m not sure, I’m still pretty busy after all…”

And then when she hangs up
My ears would just keep ringing
As the room melts into static

Ah
It’s just so troublesome
It would be nice if I had cried back then