Too small for her age. Too young for her age. Indecisive. Asks a lot of questions. Brown hair, unbrushed, wild and thick. Big eyes. Small lips. Flat nose. Brown skin. On the last day of the year 1985, fireworks exploded with a cry from a baby girl with a boy’s name. A Capricorn. A winter’s child born in summerland. Growing up, a guesswork. Draws other things in class. Writes other things in class. Does not listen. Learns on her own. Once called Tomato. Once had herself embarrassed in front of a dance practice when a classmate pulled up her skirt. Once had her face painted on with makeup and decided she didn’t look good in it. Once told a lot of lies. These are not lies. Learned a new language by listening to the syllables of an ending song from an anime. Shortly lived in a dormitory with Korean girls and an old maid called Yaya Patis. Left. Never left home. An introvert. Loved books. Wrote a book. Had a poem in a book. Had a poem in a journal. Had a few more poems in a blog and other places. Wrote stories. Wrote essays. Wrote features. Wrote like her life depended on it. Her life do depend on it. Teaches kids. Makes songs. Heard her own sung by choir. Held a book with her poem. Drove a car. Petted a dog. Adopted a few more. Loves people. Cries over kindness. Handle with care. Store in a cool, dry place. Do not bleach. Good for your soul.
- May 27, 2014
Once upon a time, a girl was born on the New Year's eve, when the sky was lit up with fireworks, and a hospital room rang with a baby's cry. Once upon a time, a girl picked up a pen and fell in love with the way it glides on paper, how words formed, how notes were strung. Once upon a time, there was me. And then, there was you. Hi there. Thank you for reading this blog.