HOARDER

I have lived in my current house for about 11 years. Before I lived in my house, I used to live in a very small townhouse. According to my mom, they bought this teeny tiny place as it was all they could afford at the moment as my dad was still attending college. I don’t remember much about the house as I was at the age you don’t really remember things. But I remember small things about it like the small kitchen that only two people could fit in, the stairs that led to a small platform, the cards of abcs taped onto the wall, and cute animal framed light switches. 

Two years ago, my parents decided to sell the old house so they often visited the house to make renovations. A part of me wanted to keep the house. I’m a hoarder but something about letting go of something that was part of my life was difficult. Letting go is the only way to move on and keep moving forward. I have the present and other things to cherish so I can’t be holding onto the past.

Now, whenever we pass the area near our house, we have our “remember we used to live there” chat. I just look at it with a smile, no desire to take it back. I already have a house that I have been growing in for eleven years and I’ve forgotten the old house the next day.

 I WISH I STARTED SOONER

I look up with googly eyes and my hands clasped together. 

“You can’t do it. You’re too little. I don’t think it suits you, maybe try something else,” she claimed. My eyebrows and mouth slid down and my hands reached for the back of my neck. 

“Oh okay…yeah,” I agreed numbly. 

I stepped on to the dirt next to the home plate and held back my bat. I gulped, my legs shaking. 

“Wait. I can’t do this. I’m not good. I’m too tiny. I’m going to make my team lose,” my brain screamed. 

The pitcher swung the ball and then “HUT! STRIKE,” the blue man yelled. The other team screamed and cheered. Then another pitch. “STRIKE TWO,” he yelled.

“You have to swing! Let’s go, right here,” my teammates cheered.

I gulped, “I should have never done this. My mom was right. I can’t.”

Then, the pitcher’s hands fell and her arms did a whole 360 degrees circle. I shut my eyes and swung. The next thing I heard “awws” and cheers.

“Yep, I missed it. I got a strike. It’s okay, I’ll just never play again.”

“RUN! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?! RUN,” someone yelled. I opened my eyes and got a glimpse of the outfielders running to the far side of the field. A ball. A ball. My legs start running and move by itself. I’ve never run so fast in my life. I slid to 3rd base right when the the 3rd baseman caught the ball. Everyone turned there face to the blue man…“SAFE,” the blue yelled.

“WOOOOO, LET”S GOO! OUTTA WAY,” my teammates scream. I get up, my legs feeling a little stingy on the side.

“I wish I started sooner,” I panted.

TIME DOESN’T WAIT FOR YOU

Click, click, click, tik, tik, tik. The cold mornings that bite my arms and legs, bunch of voices echoing across the room, the messy graffiti on the whiteboards, cheers and stomping of feet in the halls, pink and orange watercolor skies, frustrating problems to solve and turn in before 11:59, scrolling on the screen, and closing my eyes to comfort. Then repeat. Cold mornings.

Growing up, I realized that the time we are given is very short. Everyday gets shorter and shorter like someone switched the time to 3 times speed and put my days on repeat. In this limited time, we have to discover the things we want to do, reserve hours to books and textbooks, and appreciate the little things in life. The things around you do not last forever. They leave without a word and never come back. Last year and this year, my grandma passed away and it happened in a blink of an eye. My whole life I’ve been blinded to what’s around me and been only looking straight ahead. There is not enough time.

WHAT WE DON’T KNOW

“Oh my gosh, she’s so pretty. I wish I could be like her. If only I was that skinny,” she complained.

“Oh my gosh, did you see that girl’s post? She’s so fat,” he giggled.

“Oh my gosh, did you see the news? Asian grandpa got jumped. Honestly, deserved it cause he should’ve went back to his own country,” they cackled.

“Oh my gosh, did you hear that one of the girls at our school got sexually harassed? I mean what did she think would happen when she’s wearing that kind of outfit,” he argued.

“Oh my gosh, look he’s so ugly,” she laughed. 

“Bro, that’s not cool. Don’t say that,” she answered.

“What. It was just a joke. You’re so lame,” they blamed.

“Oh sorry,” she mumbled.

In the world, there were two girls starving themselves, an old man in the hospital who worked in a small restaurant with two grandkids in elementary, a girl crying and blaming herself in her room, her cover chipping away, and a guy struggling with depression.

THE NEVER ENDING ROAD

I walk on this road. I can’t see where it ends but I just keep walking. Foot after foot for 15 years. As I get farther and farther, the trail becomes steeper, loose rocks sticking out, ready to give out with any pressure. It gets harder and harder to make progress and sometimes I want to sleep on the side of the line. But I can’t because then I’ll slide off the trail and I’ll have to start from the beginning again. I see people walking on the same road. Some stick with me, some push me forward, some give me a piggyback ride, some make me stop, some people make me slide back to the bottom of the hill, and some walk faster.