On her ninth birthday, Marie sat on the edge of her bed, staring at the small cake on the table. It was store-bought, lopsided with a single candle in the middle. She lit it herself, the small flame flickering in the darkened room. The house was silent, empty as usual her mother had left hours ago, leaving Marie alone again.

“Make a wish”, make a wish,” she whispered to herself, her voice trembling. Marie’s life had always felt like her home in Africa and when she arrived in a different country a year ago, her battles multiplied. At school, the children mocked her for her broken English. She could hear the giggles from the back of the classroom as she stumbled through sentences, her accent heavy with the weight of her mother tongue. To the girl in her English class, she once whispered about her under her breath. What is funny, what is hilarious about her painful attempts to communicate in a language that is not even her own. She clenched her fists remembering how their laughter rang in her ears. This accent, she thought, tells the story of survival. It tells how her mother tongue endured to this day, how it carried her across oceans, deserts, and pain. So, you should treat her tongue with some respect, every syllable that escapes her lips is born from a riot, a clash of cultures, histories, and identities fighting for dominance in that moment. Marie made a quiet promise to herself. This accent is my guide, my compass. It is how she finds her way home, but on her birthday, the compass felt broken. The weight of loneliness crushed her small shoulders. She closed her eyes tightly and made her wish. It was the same wish she made every night, to feel love, to find a place where she belonged, to have a voice that was not laughed at. After blowing out the candles she sat in the quiet, her heart heavy, “GOD”, she prayed softly. “Are you there? Can you hear me crying? Please, please, send someone to love me.” The wind rattled the window in response, the cold air creeping in through the cracks. Marie curled up under her blanket, holding on to the promise of her mother tongue, her accent and her God will guide her home one day...