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Personal Writing

Personal writing

Poetry

H(uman)2O

My body ebbs and flows
like the Mother Ocean
Am I like her or is she like me?
When she becomes polluted, do I
or vice versa?
A vicious cycle of entities
separated by flesh
Or maybe, there’s no divide

While she is for the most part
100 percent water
The Human body is
76 percent water
Which means
I only ebb and flow
76 percent of the time

The other 24 percent of the time
I’m locked in a state of
hating the constant, the present, the now
Hating the place I just ebbed from
Longing for the next flow
Hoping that I'll arrive
and stay
at a place of unmovable beauty
like Mother Ocean

Each time I step into the shower
I wish the polished water would wash away
my state of flex
like the waves lapping and sucking at
the canvas of Mother Ocean
leaving behind nothing
but a clean slate

Three Inch Freedom

My womanly ancestors
bore feet of three inches
The length of a caterpillar
The length of conceived beauty
The length of their freedom
Crushed the same way
Their dainty feet
Were crushed
So now
I bear feet of massive size
I wear an 8
8 is the homophone for fortune
In Chinese
8 is my homophone for freedom

The Cave

Unaware in your bubble of safe
engulfed in a frenzy
of what is “known” and “right”
Baptized in normalcy
you feign indifference

Akin to the Allegory of The Cave
I am blinded
and forever morphed
My eyes see the world
anew and sharp

Trapped in this enlightenment
I scream
Scream ‘til the marrow
in my once steel bones
boils over
into an unknown form

Screaming as I attempt
to free the others
but my wails fall
on newborn ears
it is a whisper
too foreign of a frequency

I have become an alien to this cave
I dangle delicately between
the world within/the world without

The chained ones
are not ready for me
to break the bonds
of the hallowed ground

Shall I relish in the light
or seek the routine company
A battle between
enlightenment and loneliness
with me
as collateral damage


 

Prose

How Harry Potter Saved My Life

Chinese is my first language. So when I was a kid, school was foreign and books were unbreakable. Picture books was heavy reading.

During the Christmas of 1998, my oldest girl cousin presented me a stack of three thick books; Harry Potter 2, 3, and 4. I timidly cracked open “Harry Potter and The Chamber of Secrets”, expecting to see lifeless symbols staring back. Instead, I saw a story more vivid than any I'd seen in movies.

So it started. A lifetime of reading, learning, and directing movies in my head. Harry Potter transformed me from a broken English-speaking girl to a college educated woman. The only thing I would change is to have started with the first book.


Minute Minute

There is no such thing as a minute minute. If you don't believe me, simply ask the winner, or better yet, the loser, or perhaps the really grasp the picture, ask not those who were ripped away from this life (for they no longer have a voice we can hear), but ask those who barely made it past.

They would tell you the severity and weight of a split second, a genuine gesture, a tiny thought. How when it all came down to it, these were the only things that mattered.

That to those hanging on by only a thread, that thread is their Universe. I wouldn't be breathing today if not for a kind gesture and a warm smile. That was my thread and it carried me through the natural disaster of my mind at the time. Nowadays, I keep that thread tied to my pinky as a minute reminder of how colossal the little things are.


Greek Tragedies

Olive bars taste like how my relationships should be: bright, enticing, with subtle complexities and depth. Every bite is different and you're always left mouth watering, wanting more. There is a harmony that sings to the soul. A simplicity that is easy and blissful. Something this overly lush and decadent shouldn't be good for you... yet it is. Unfortunately, I can only afford but so much. So I pick and choose. No wonder the Greeks wrote such tragedies.