The Box

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There was never a monster hiding under my bed, but there was always a box. The box where I kept every letter that was ever written to me, every tooth I’ve pulled out, and every wristband that I didn’t throw away after coming home from a fair. Although the box just seemed like a place to dump little things that I probably wouldn’t look at again, it meant everything to me.

Whenever we move houses, my dad always asks me to throw away the “second trash can” that I have in my room. Though I can see why it seems that way to him, I can’t help but notice how this box has grown with me. Every single thing in the box has a different personality to it due to me constantly growing and changing over the years. 

Not only does the box show my progress of growing up, but it also shows how people around me have grown up. Some people went from giving cards with rainbows and bunnies on them for my birthday to giving me minimalist styled cards. I enjoy seeing how people have changed over the years. I hope that no matter how difficult life gets for people, that they know that they’ve successfully made someone happy and appreciative of their existence at one point in their life. 

Stuffed Animals

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I am an only child. I am an only child who spent all her life wishing for love before blowing out the candles on her birthday cake. Growing up, I always wanted a little brother who I could be close with. There wasn’t a day where I didn’t ponder about the close connection and bond that people had with each other. I knew that my wish would never come true, though, because my parents had me late and that another child would be a huge burden on their part. 

As much as I wanted to be loved, I also wanted to be able to express love to someone because I liked to see people achieve something that most people in the world would die for. My parents are very introverted themselves, and I guess that reflected a lot on me because I didn’t like to talk to people nor did I enjoy being in big group settings. When I was younger, I had a really big obsession with stuffed animals. I think we all did and some of us still do, including me. Although the older generation would believe that stuffed animals were just another useless object, my stuffed animals were everything to me. The world is a cruel place and I enjoyed the idea of something next to me that I could just hug without it judging me. The smell of them reminded me of those types of hugs where nothing else in the world mattered, except the warmth of the hug. I would just hug, hug, and hug.

Aunt Holly

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My first time ever going on a plane was when I was 11. However, it wasn’t for vacation, it was in fact far from that. I went with my dad and uncle to go to my aunt Holly’s funeral. I was never close to my aunt, I was never close to my extended family in general. Aunt Holly passed away due to dementia, though no one batted an eye at her phone calls or messages when she was still alive, including my dad. 

You know how sometimes you instantly get a feel about how a person is before they even open their mouth? Yeah, that’s how I felt at the funeral. My 11 year old self didn’t know any better at the time, but I felt a warm sense of her personality throughout the room. Her favorite flowers were filled throughout the church, and I could just tell that her soul was just as beautiful as the flowers. All around me, people cried, cried, and cried. 

As I sat in my seat, I couldn’t help but wonder how heavy her heart was when she realized how detached her family was. If I were to weigh every heart in the room, would it even come remotely close to the weight she held in her heart? I’ll never know. My eyes couldn’t cry, but my heart did. For you. Aunt Holly. 

Our Little Hearts

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For 7 years of my life, I saw my babysitter, Ngoc, more than anyone else in the world. The house was always full of kids and the smell of vietnamese essential oils. She was a lady in her late 50s and always had a big heart for little kids like us. The kids in the house were so little that they had little hearts too. Everyday, she would have to deal with constant bickering, things breaking, or someone getting hurt. Though we were a mess, she was never the woman to complain. She hugged our little hearts with her big heart. 

Ngoc was always sad whenever a kid grew too old to have a babysitter. She watched us grow throughout the years, growing out of her reach. She never had kids of her own but she always wanted one, so she acted like a mother figure to kids. Not her kids. But kids. She believed in the power of God and always pondered the sky. Though I’ll never be able to tell what she was praying for, I think I have a good idea. She’s the reason why I’m able to love and respect people the way I do to this day. 

Ngoc deserves the world that she prayed upon. 

The Boy, My Boy

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“Bestfriend, he told me I looked pretty today!” 

“Bestfriend, he yelled at me when I tried saying hi to him in front of his friends.” 

…

“Bestfriend, he said he wanted to hold my hand!” 

“Bestfriend, he held hands with another girl.” 

…

“Bestfriend…” 

For the first time in forever, I was softly spoken to. I mean, after all these years of feeling unlovable, I’m loved? I couldn’t believe it. The way he looks at me is mesmerizing. Behind those eyes, holds the most prettiest soul known to man, and those eyes are looking at me. I mean how could those eyes meet mine the way they do? Everytime I make eye contact with him, I feel like I’m stargazing on another planet. Oh my god, did I mention the little wrinkle near his eyes when he gives me that stupid smile? It’s only stupid because the way I melt at a simple smile is stupid. I want to cry. 

Today he gave me his jacket. He didn’t just give me his jacket, he put it on for me. He even left a note in one of the pockets. His handwriting is so romantic, his cursive flows just like the way his hair flows beautifully in the wind that one night we walked around together. His jacket smelled like the nostalgic feeling I get when I hold my baby blanket. He truly brought out the inner child in me, and he doesn’t even realize it. I want to cry. 

Yesterday he hugged me. It was as if time stopped. I laid my head on his chest, hearing his heart thump beautifully. Before, the only sound I enjoyed listening to was the sound of silence late at night when I laid in bed alone with my thoughts. Now his heart beat is the only sound I want to listen to. It’s not just a sound, it’s music. I love music. He squeezes me like there’s no tomorrow, and tells me that he’s scared of breaking me. I hope he realizes that the only thing that will break me, is the day he stops hugging me. I want to cry. 

For a while, I thought being alone was my fate. No matter how hard I tried, every connection I’ve had with a boy ended with a striking realization that I’m pretty enough to flirt with, but I’d never be enough to where someone can give me flowers instead of telling me they want to give my flowers just to keep me attached. Never in my life have I ever felt so loved. He’s well spoken, emotionally intelligent, and lets me cry in his arms.