Silence doesn’t mean that I have nothing to say, it means some things are better left unsaid.
Each time she naps, I wonder who I will find when she wakes up. Will she be my mom? Will she be the 9-year old orphan she once was? Will she be looping through a question cycle?
We shifted to this new space. At first, we seemed out of place like liquid falling into a glass, bouncing and splashing, pressing on the sides, snuggling finally into its new confines. Well, we’ve snuggled and I love it here.
As I stepped on the edges green and earth-toned, I slid down, runner and all, into an abyss, deep and debilitating. Once there, my every effort to climb upward met resistance, slender, ivory talons clawed and cajoled, sucking me deeper.
I lived my life comparing it constantly to what I thought it should be. In some ways, I suppose that is not such a bad thing. But the models I had placed in mind were not real. They were fabricated relationships.
At that time, our conversations connected by squiggly wires hooked to sockets in the wall, rooted us to one space. Still I couldn’t see beyond the radius of me, myself, and I, any more than she does now.
I never knew about Masis before I went to Pakistan. I wrote this story to inform but to also consider
I Found Me in Books Until sixth grade, I lived in an unaware haze. When I try to remember me then, all I see is fuzzy and undefined. It was that first year at Rockford Elementary School, that my mind woke up, primarily thanks to an incredibly understanding and inspiring teacher, Mr. Bakke, and a wonderful,…