The older Yup'ik women, I adore. Whenever they come around they bring their children or an 'English speaking helper'. Their company always whispers to me 'She's old, she can't speak English.' or 'She only speaks Yup'ik'. I just smile sweetly. And as soon as their company disappears into the crowd the sweet little old ladies come to me. They speak English flawlessly- or perhaps I'm just accustom to their native tongue and the way the pronounce familiar words. Nevertheless we understand eachother just fine. And they tell me stories and give me tips on sewing fur. They show me things I wouldn't usually see. They give me secrets that I often times wonder if other's know. They smile to me in a way they don't smile to other's in town. It's like they see something within me that's different from the rest. Perhaps it's my Eskimo heartbeat or my constant yearning of their ancient culture. Perhaps it's that certain something that their kind of my generation have lost- yet I, a lonesome outsider, somehow have found. Perhaps through my white skin, blond hair, and blue eyes, they see a soul that finds home admist this land. And through some unspoken likeness we know eachother in a way that even their grandchildren couldn't understand.
