32 tagged with #family

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the noises i hear at my parents' house at night:

  • security alarms going off for three and a half minutes
  • sports cars overrevving
  • owls hooting

every time i visit, i pack at least one more box of my personal objects. my hope is that this enables my parents to move out of this town sooner. i can't wait until the day when i never have to set foot here again.

18 December 2014 02:31


i learn how to say things that make other people happy, just a few words here and there to remind them that i've paid attention and i know. does it matter how sincere i am? not if the end result is indistinguishable. it only matters to me. no one can see what's in my head.


'but tell me how your name is really pronounced,' someone asks, with good intentions to not offend me.

'it's fine. however you pronounce it is fine.'

'no, it's not! i want to learn how it's actually pronounced. teach me. i can do it. i want to be respectful of your name.'

but can you be respectful of how i want you to pronounce it? or is it not about what i want, but what you perceive is the correct thing to do? i've accepted pronounciations that feel contextually appropriate. you are already looking at an anglizied representation of a word that does not exist in your language or character set.

names are as real as you declare them to be. names are as real as they are used. i have names you don't know, and i have names i could never share with you.

'oh, but you shouldn't have to accept people saying your name wrong, that's such a disservice to your history!'

thank you for trying to be culturally sensitive. but call me what i tell you to call me. don't try to correct me if you don't like the name i give. other people's preferences are not mine. my preferences are not others.

09 October 2014 11:36

Not Sunday

A long, rainy day. There are few days when I do not leave the house. But they are the days when I lock myself inside my head in an attempt to pry out the thoughts I need to put together.

I've managed to separate the need for pleasure from the need of food, such that I can eat for the pure utility of putting nutrients into my body, regardless of what those nutrients are. I used to wonder how my father could stand to eat plain white rice with plain vegetables and lukewarm water; as time goes on, I become my parents.

That thought used to scare me. It doesn't anymore; it almost becomes a note of pride when I observe it.

Hard boiled eggs are to be eaten in one gulp, whole, unseasoned, with the shell casually peeled away. It's okay if it crunches a little. I needed to clear out the weeks-old celery that doesn't even snap with crispness. Empty cans of cheap lager stack up on my desk. I haven't even stood on the porch in hours.

It's summer. I'm flying away, soon.

I'll be back.

15 May 2014 21:17


I round the corner before my office to a fluttering of black wings, and a sparrow flies towards me. I freeze, bike in hand, and the sparrow wheels past and lands on the handle of my office door again. When I approach, slowly, it takes off, rushing for the stairwell at the end of the hallway. It hesitates before flying through the door, deciding instead fo come back towards me.

By this time, I'm ready, and lean my bike against the wall while pulling off my shirt. It aims to cross over my head, and I net it gently. It struggles in my hands for only a moment before falling still, and I carry the parcel to the back door.

It doesn't move when I spread my shirt on the grass, and I worry that I killed it in the process of trying to catch it, but I can see its eyes darting and its chest heaving. It only takes a few gentle nudges on its wing and tailfeathers before it takes off into the sky.


I called my mother to wish her a happy mother's day, and she answered the phone in her sleep. I said she could call me back later, but instead, she mumbled packing instructions for our trip next week until I convinced her to hangup.

She called me back later anyway, and informed me of a list of personal items she would pack for me because she didn't trust that I would pack them for myself.

11 May 2014 16:17


The night air is chilly, but I refuse to call it cold, as if by assertion I can force the weather to remain firmly in the territory of a mild early spring. It gently nudges through my fleece pants; I couldn't be assed to change back into clothing appropriate for public appearance. Overhead, the moon watches as it always does, without comment.

"Are you not in your house?" my mother asks me through the phone.

"No, I'm taking a walk to post some mail." The gas bill sits crumpled in the chest pocket of my jacket, an excuse for a chore so I could take the phone call outside of my house. I've already walked past the block with the sticker-covered blue box twice because I wasn't paying attention to where I was going.

"Oh, sure," is her only response before resuming her report of which of my cousins were dating, which had gotten married, and which just got dumped.

08 April 2014 22:33

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