For a thousand years, every morning, walking through the green paddy field, faint smell of smoke floating far over the field coming from the stove made of clay, tells the story of a thousand men living his life in the village he was born and raised to. I look in awe and think, this is the face of my country, when the long and heavy branch of a tree bends down and touches the morning sun.
This is from Himchori, Cox's Bazar, where I was reluctantly standing away from the not so tempting waterfall the place is known for. I saw this mother sitting close to me wearing a same reluctant mood, wearing my country's colors, with her kid's shoes. Her kid is overjoyed and she's gracefully keeping his shoes.