Things to Relearn

“What counts as child molestation?” I was sitting in the passenger seat of my boyfriend’s car, my eyes gazing at nothing in particular. The Los Angeles lights whirring past us were as hasty and blurred as my thoughts were. This story is not hard to tell. This story is also very hard to tell. When …

Unapologetic

I stooped down, crouching beside one young girl as she diligently drew a cartoon image of her mom. Her clean bob-cut hair brushed the surface of the table as she leaned into her image, her hand working with confidence. Despite being shy, it went without a doubt that she was in her element whenever a …

Carried

When my parents first immigrated to America over thirty years ago, when my dad still spoke English with a thick accent, my mom was the main breadwinner of the family. By the time my sisters and I were born, she had kept her factory job, working pretty late into the nights while my dad would …

Lopsided

I was ten, sitting around in my room doing whatever it is ten-year-old’s do, when my mom asked me to cut her hair. I kept to myself mostly back then, even around my family, so there were many thoughts I had that I didn’t say to her as I walked obediently to the bathroom. Thoughts …

Foreign Routes

She stared with undivided focus out the bus window, studying the route: the houses that lined it, the storefronts, even the chipped-paint patterns on the fire hydrants. She had never taken this bus before, but now that her husband was no longer around to drive her, she and her daughter shrugged off the mere inconvenience …

What Is It Like?

“Imagine you’re in a body of water. Deep, mind you, so deep that no matter where you look, everything is dark and you can’t see the hand you hold up before you. Your movements are slow, your body pressed in by the weight of the water. Your proprioception remains intact, and you begin to make …

How We Waltz

There was once a young boy, a puppeteer, who sat day in and day out on the same street corner with his strung wooden dolls. Despite spending his days out on the streets, in a neighborhood where no young child should traverse alone, he was stupendously well dressed relative to the residents who strolled past him. His jet black hair was neatly combed to the side, each strand perfectly in its ordained place, and his clothes told of an immense reserve of money. He stood out in a world that sung of vulgar neighborhood brawls and the daily calls of beggars.

Lunch

I was sitting in the dimly lit basement of my grandma’s house. “Grandma, take your time!” I chirped cheerfully as I swung my legs from the dinner table chair, too short to be able to reach the ground. I was starving, but I was raised to never pressure or ask a host to serve me. My small hands were placed flat own on the tabletop, in disguised anticipation for the lunch my grandma was cooking for me.

A Red Mark

In these moments I can find the gospel so much sweeter. I am a sinner, wholly undeserving of love. When I am tempted to think highly of myself, I am once again utterly shocked by the true extent of my horrible tendencies, as this story explored. Yet God's love manifested in grace is sufficient. It is sweet, it is wide, it is deep, and there is no one to whom it is denied.

Exhale

Today I heard my house breathing, a large exhale that shook me to my core. I felt its deep rumble as I lied on my back, allowing myself to sink slightly into the white mattress of my bed. Its silent hum held a melancholic weight against my ears, its reverberating pull tugged on the muscles of my lungs. Today I heard my house breathing, a large exhale that stole my own breath.