Familiar Murmurs

In the beginning, there was only one language.  But progressively, the external English-filled world brought division, and I found myself losing touch with my mother tongue.  I sat by the ebony table etched with abalone cranes eating wedges of apples and Jeju mandarins, zoning out to quiet conversations among my relatives---soft murmurs and occasional words I could recognize.  Years later, I find myself in the modern day living room, in calls with people from all over the world.  Today, I hear the melodic words of my Thai friends and cannot understand a single word although the sounds have become familiar.  The worries of the day dissipate; everything feels meditative, and little do my friends know how much their presence means to me, and how it brings me back to my childhood.