“Written in these walls are the stories that I can’t explain”

:(:

“You have two years left to live.”

My Uncle Jeff, my aunt’s husband, was diagnosed with cancer. It may seem careless, but I’m not close enough with him to feel super bad about it. Sure, it’s sad, but it’s just that I don’t have a tight enough relationship with him to care that much about it. It doesn’t help that he lives 500 miles away in Nevada, meaning I only see him really about once a year or so.

Uncle Jeff’s son, my cousin, was also diagnosed with cancer. He’s an adult. Similarly, I don’t have a tight connection with him either, so I have the same perspective of him as Uncle Jeff. I also heard that he slapped my younger cousin in anger, so I’m not so sure how to feel about him. Despite his condition, my respect for him has decreased.

“It seems to me that when I die these words will be written on my stone”

Live a Little

“Live a little!” my mother exclaimed.

“Five bucks here, ten bucks there, that’s a hundred sooner or later,” my father replied.

Since I was a child, my father would always be annoyed by my mother’s constant spending on snacks. Since I was a child, I’ve always sided with my mother. Why wouldn’t I want a treat here and there? But maturing is realizing that money does not grow on trees. Money is limited and I started to understand my father’s perspective. But does that make my mother wrong? I’ve come to the conclusion to live the best of both worlds. Spend enough money to have fun and live my life, and save enough money to take care of future expenses.

“I spend her love until she’s broke inside”

Home?

Rain. Cold. Wet. A tsunami devastated the sidewalk after each car sped by.

A dweller, a dweller under the shelter of the bush. This is no refuge, no place to live.

The world is in a monochrome filter. The wind rushed past, racing the nearby cars.

This is no refuge, no place to live. A human, shivering, shaking, shrinking from the oppressive weather.

Tears drip from the drooping leaves of bushes and trees. Dripping down and down.

Shrinking from the oppressive weather, covered by a cold blanket as if it was just used after a shower.

This is no place to return to. This is no place to call home.

“The story of my life, I take her home”

Grappling With Change

You know that feeling when you don’t feel like taking a shower but once you go in, you can’t get out? Or when you hesitate to try a new food but end up loving it? When you don’t want to change, but it results in a new positive experience. 

My parents signed me up for jiu jitsu martial arts for the first time around five years ago. I hated it the first time. It was signifying change and I didn’t feel comfortable with it. Each and every time my jiu jitsu class was soon, I wouldn’t remind my parents and I would hope they wouldn’t remember it. It never worked. So every day, I attended class. I was the quiet one, and was known for it. But every day, I got to know everyone a bit better. Every day, I got more used to, more comfortable. Soon enough, I had myself a new group of friends and it wasn’t so bad attending jiu jitsu.

“And I’ve been waiting for this time to come around”

The Favor

“How long do we have to be here for?” I complained to my mother.

“As long as it takes. Auntie Joy said it takes five minutes per plant,” she replied, “Here, hold the hose over it and I’ll set a timer.”

“Why does each plant take so long? Doesn’t all this water drown it?”

“Well, Auntie’s the expert, and we’re doing her a favor by watering her plants while she’s gone. Don’t water the leaves, water the soil,” my mother continued.

“I thought the leaves needed water too.”

“No, watering the roots allows the entire plant to grow.”

“This is so boring.”

“I know. Just a couple more plants and we’re done.”

“The story of my life”