I don’t remember what car we drove then. It was likely the Volvo SUV, which was present in our lives for a very short time. Only four months, right before our monumental move to Singapore.
May 16th, 2016. My mom hates the dentist, but I always thought the orthodontist was much worse. Jaw aching and mouth dry, listening to an old man debate over what he can fix.
I wrote this at the beginning of November 2021, during my first semester at college. In being away from home, the most challenging part was not being able to swim in the ocean or any body of water, something I have long taken for granted. I missed the feeling of being submerged in water and coming back out of it into real life, all cold and recharged.
There are many places I have been to, but these are the only ones I know. Places are like people. You have to love them, hate them, explore them, and talk to them before you can really know them. Only after you share a cup of soup and a sandwich together will they reveal themselves to you.
My home had always been broken, though at the time it wasn’t something I could acknowledge. It was made almost explicitly of wood and brick and required a mother-daughter DIY fix each day.
“What are you so afraid of? Why are you so worked up? There’s nothing to be worried about.”
I sit and stare at the shards of broken glass scattered across the black, carpeted floor. I cannot move. I can only sit. And stare. And wait.
When I was a kid, I loved hearts. I loved my friends. I loved my family. I loved my dog and my house and reading.
She took me to the side into the closet bursting with chiffon, cotton, and crepe. I didn’t know her well, but she seemed to know me; to have observed me closely.
2007. St. Joseph Elementary School is a small building with quaint classrooms, strict Catholic teachers, and a single silver swing set that serves as the height of recess excitement in spring.