If there are alley’s inside me there must also be hallways, I take a walk inside. I see all the things I dread, all the embarrassing moments, but I also see my favorite memories. I walk down reminiscing on my past as a glimpse of light starts to beam through the door at the end of the hallway. As I get closer it almost seems blinding, I start to run for the door, it is overpowering me with what is at the end and is filling me with joy, happiness, and anxiety about what’s on the other side. As I start to get into a full-on sprint I flash past tons and tons of memories of my vacations, my sports games, school events, you name it. However, I don’t stop to look because I know whatever it is on the other side of that door is something much bigger. I got excited and now the hallway just seems to get longer. My nerves bouncing off the walls, I proceed to leap and skip and jump as I am not far from the door. Pushing the cold metal of the door I step out and standing right before my eyes is my family. The family that I love with everything and the family that loves me. 

 

Family. It is such a comforting word. The word that can bring me back to hundreds of memories, but one in particular stands out. Christmas Eve. 

 

This day, the memories that I have created, the people I am with. Walking into my Grandmother’s house with warm air surrounding the entire room from the oven. The laughter and conversations with our nice clothes on from church. The smell of the seven fishes laying out on the table made me clench my stomach after fasting all day just for this meal. The sound of presents crinkling as the wrapping gets thrown to the ground. 

 

Nothing can beat the happiness the twelve of us hold when we are together on this day. Nothing can break the memory of this very special night. Nothing can erase this amazing day out of my mind. I look back to all the years of the same traditions that we repeat over and over again. The loud stomps of us dancing around my grandmother’s living room to the most irritating but most amazing Christmas song. Dominic the Donkey. No care in the world that it is 1:00 in the morning. The drive home is never quiet. The excitement that there are going to be presents when we wake up the next morning. Most people say that Christmas is their favorite holiday. Not me, Christmas Eve will always be my favorite and a memory I will cherish forever.

Saturday nights turn everything golden– golden dogs, golden ramen, golden solitude.

 

I’d gotten home late on that Saturday night, courtesy of a pumpkin carving display in Chadds Ford. The beautiful golden glow of candles and the smell of freshly cut open pumpkins brought back the memories of my childhood. I relished in the cool night air, the beautiful works of art, and let myself wander. 

When I’d gotten back in the car to go home, I slipped on my headphones and tuned everything else out, letting the drums, guitars, and lyrics fill my head with daydreams and fantasies of other worlds. I’ve always loved long car rides. It feels good to just sit back; not being expected to socialize, or listen to pointless stories you don’t really care about, about people you don’t know, and don’t want to know. It’s freeing, ironically– when you’re stuck in the cramped backseat– but it feels so nice. At least, it’s nice for me. Dunno about everyone else.

  I wasn’t hungry when I finally got home, but after seeing the time, I’d gone to the basement pantry and grabbed a packet of ramen– the good kind, from an Asian grocery store. It was savory, and slightly spicy, and its warmth made its way into my bloodstream. I ate on the couch that night; a rare occasion in and of itself. I turned on the TV and browsed Netflix, before deciding to click on the first episode of my favorite show, happily rewatching and reminiscing. There’s something special about rewatching your favorite show, when you already know what happens but still forget those little things that make the episode even better. My dogs lay asleep in the living room; Calvin on the couch with me and Snoop on the floor.

 I think I’d watched around four or so episodes before cleaning up and heading to bed. Calvin lay at my feet and Snoop lay on the floor. I fell asleep easily enough, though in the back of my mind, I was already mourning that glorious, golden solitude that I knew wouldn’t be back.

 

Hickory, sycamores

Shagbark and walnut

Sturdy strong and stiff

Swaying in the breeze, lifting leaves of fall

A foggy memory of my childhood

 

My whole life, in that damned house

 

Presently I feel fine, like I’ve forgotten.

The endless, unsupervised days outside.

Garden boxes with little, red, painted handprints are gone.

Remembering the days outside, contrasting to now. 

Where I barely leave my room.

 

In the past, I would venture outside 

 An explorer 

 Escaping reality. 

 

I remember 

 

The creek,

The flaking blue paint on the deck posts

Plastic gardening tools 

The no-trespassing signs

Abandoned junkyard, with rusty cars and trucks, 

chock-full of old furniture

Animal prints in the mud, 

the same mud that would speckle my legs and clothes,

Color of the tree bark and English breakfast, my hair and eyes. 

Gillmering with the hardy rings of wood.  

Stained shirt 

After summer school, in the deep woods, 

A wild child, that ran in streams and meadows, 

Down into marshes and tall, whipping reeds

 

But a wild child can’t be wild or a child forever.

Stuck in school or the house,

Her memories flooded with the white cans with blue and gold letters

The scent of stale yeast filled her nose.

The mountain-high piles that towered over my head.

 

The staircase where my mother wept,

Small arms encasing her to console,

A role to fill, the protector. 

A fighter, who wouldn’t back down.

 

When the stairs were remodeled, the carpet striped,  furniture replaced and walls repainted. 

Pain and grief, still stuck like spears in my soul.

Part of me that will always be broken. 

 

A wild child alone in the trees, 

Wild, wild eyes staring back at me, 

Crazed and dim, With pain and pressure of a life

 that never wished to live.

Clutching a can, like the last thing on earth.

After all the time passed, I still find myself stuck in the brush, 

 

Back behind the hickories. 

There are clumps of pictures in my gallery from September 4, there are images of my family- my godparents and their family, including my own. 

Today is September 4, Sofia’s wedding, the bride- my godmother’s daughter. My godparents aren’t  blood related to me- but they’re valuable and very important individuals, who’ve been all throughout my life. 

The wedding ceremony starts at 8:30 a.m, so I had to wake up around 5:50 a.m: to take a shower, get dressed, and eat breakfast. Once it was 8:25 am- my family and I were out of the house and onto the car. 

Eventually, we arrived at the reception. My family and I walked towards the entrance. But, before we entered, we first had to take off our sandals in another separate room. Thankfully! I told my family to bring a pair of socks because the floor was freezing cold, as if it was ice. When we entered, a helper told us, “Good morning. Welcome, you may sit wherever you’d like and there’s breakfast being served, if you’d like to eat.” 

When I sat down at a table. There were like a bazillion people- entering, getting breakfast, and sitting down at tables. 

I heard cheering. And as I turned around,  I saw a stage, at the center, and I could see Arvan, the groom, starting his ceremonial ritual. He was wearing a white robe with white parachute pants. There was a member from the temple, a man- helping him throughout the process of his ritual. 

After his part of the ceremony was done. It was Sofia’s turn to do her part of the ceremony. She looked stunning and very beautiful, as an angel from heaven. She wore a red sari that had golden borders at the ends, red and golden bracelets on her wrists, including a golden headlace. Everything she wore was either red or gold. Red represents “new beginnings”.  She’s beginning her new life, with the love of her life. She’s entering a new chapter of her life. 

 There were about 5 rituals in total, the couple rotated- taking their own turns, for the rituals. Until, it was all together for the fifth ritual ceremony- the couple and their families. 

One of the ends of Sofia’s red sari was tied down to Arvan’s shorts, they had to loop about 10 times around a small bonfire. The loops represent their life journey together – as a married couple. 

After the ceremony concluded. The groom’s father said, “We are going to give everyone one petal and rice. Then, we’re going to go to the front and throw it to the couple.” The petals and rice represent our “blessings” to the couple. When I threw it, I accidentally threw it to a guy in front of me. But, I only hit him because I’m very short and I can’t throw well. 🙁

The ceremony ended around evening. Everyone was beginning to leave after lunch. But before-my family and I left. We first said goodbye and congratulations to the newly married couple. I felt sad that now she’s leaving, to be with her husband now. But, like how my mom always says, “You shouldn’t feel sad, but happy instead.” 

MAYBE– IN ANOTHER UNIVERSE, I’LL BE ABLE TO EXPERIENCE THIS AGAIN, AS IF IT WAS THE FIRST TIME AGAIN! 🙂

Pink, Brown, and Orange.

Like a Pink dress, with Pink heels,

or a Brown shirt, with Brown boots.

 

Maybe a Orange flower found outside

while walking out the back bumping side-to-side.

Bending over to pick it up slowly,

getting up while calling me lovely.

 

With a Pink flush of my cheeks,

I find all the butterflies to be so sweet.

With a smile on his face so wide

it was obvious it was hard to hide.

 

Driving away farther from the school,

the smell of gasoline seemed to smell cool.

 

The wind blowing against our faces

As we walked through the breeze.

Pink, Brown, and Orange.

Now it’s all I want to see.

Me and Blake went trick or treating together. He brought a shark hat, and he made me wear it because he decided to wear another costume. We were at our other friend’s house, Lexi Barlow. She led us to a neighborhood that she claimed to be “the best neighborhood out there”. From the time we left to the time we got to the first house, it felt as if 30 minutes had gone by. It was well worth the wait though because we got so much candy. The first house we approached had a bowl sitting on the front step. There was a sign above it that said please take one. Obviously we didn’t listen, so we stacked up on the candy from that house. The next house we went to was giving out king sized candy bars, which was great. 

 

After a long night of walking around, we went home and sorted out candy to trade. We spilled out our soft, cotton pillow cases while the candy poured onto the floor. A crinkling sound filled the room. The candy poured all over the floor, like a rainbow shattering on the ground. As I opened the wrapper of the Reese’s cup, the smell of the candy caught the attention of my friends. They were immediately giving me offers for this candy. Me, being the stingy person that I am, had to run up the price. I was denying the offers of candies such as airheads, skittles, butterfingers, snickers, and so many more. The final offer was given. 2 Three Musketeer bars for my one Reese’s cup. I love Three Musketeer bars, so that was immediately a deal for me 

 

The unfortunate part about the whole night was that me and Blake weren’t allowed to eat the candy because the wrestling season was coming up soon. We were clearly upset, but that didn’t stop us from having a great night.

When geese call a clamor of farewells, 

comforting condolences spoken simultaneously.

Singing sonnets of a summer song,

far away and fleeting. 

 

Soaring past September sights.

Altered.

Subsiding seasons,

Anticipating annual autumn.

 

Fading warmth, further by the day.

Cracked hands, cold and frail

spasms of shivers

even as an amber sun shatters the skyline.

 

I recall a rapture from revived memories.

Sunsets like singing melodies,

colorfully blooming as the

leaves bleed shades on gravel ground.

 

Grieving geese,

lethargic leaves,

frosty foyers.

 

A rabbit hole of remembrances

reaches to console 

my regressed mind.

No longer convinced of the reality, 

we had left behind.

 

The match before me ends, I walk to the table and say my name. They say that I am green and I walk onto the mat and take a look into the crowd. I put on my anklet band and have no words or emotions. I watch as my opponent walks onto the mat and puts on his red anklet band. I can tell from his posture and actions that he is nervous. This gives me a confidence booster heading into the match. My coaches tell me that I have worked for this and am prepared, there should be nothing to be nervous about. As I walk onto the mat, I take a good look at the crowd seeing all eyes on me. I put on my anklet band and step on the line. The ref blows the whistle and the match gets started.  A minute into the match I scored first with a beautiful takedown to put myself up two to zero to start the match. The ref flips his coin and it lands on red, my opponent is red. He defers to me and I choose down. The ref blows the whistle and I quickly get to my feet and get my one to put me up one to zero. I stall for a good bit, to close the second period out three to zero. Going into the third and final period, I tell myself that I am one period away from being in the state finals. My opponent has choice and he chooses down. I ride him out the whole period, I look at the clock as it is ticking down from 5. I have a huge smile on my face as I stand up in victory and head into the state finals. I get my hand raised, shake the other coaches hand, and jump into my coach’s arms in happiness as I have done something not a lot of people can say that they have done.      

 

 

 

 

The sound of my crying and screaming resonated throughout the bathroom. My mom tried to comfort me while firmly letting me know that I would be going to school either way. “You’re pretty,” she said, looking at me through the mirror. My vision was blurry, eyes filled with tears, barely able to see anything but the harsh yellow glow of the bathroom lights. 

Face not yet dry, I grabbed my small pink backpack and got into our big silver car, deathly silent the whole time. Thoughts raced through my mind, heart thudding loudly. I could feel us getting closer and closer to the school, my stomach hurting with anxiety more and more as we did. I felt like I could barely breathe, like something was pressing on my chest. I dragged my colorful sneakers as slowly as possible through the white walled hallway.

I reached my locker first, being careful to take as much time as possible getting my things out. Then, I turned to the door of Mme Lambert, and briefly considered running away. But I took a deep breath, and turned the handle of the wooden brown door. 

I tried to keep myself small and invisible as I walked to my seat in the back of the classroom, and I thought it worked at first. Everyone was busy having their own conversations, so I grabbed my blue folder as I always did at the beginning of class. 

If only that one boy hadn’t turned around, hadn’t noticed me, then the whole class wouldn’t be staring.

He laughed and laughed deep from his soul, as did his two friends. At that moment I was reminded of something I’d learned before, the difference between someone laughing with you versus at you. This time, they were clearly laughing at me. At my natural hair, my mini afro. I tried to think of them as idiots, but I felt like I was the idiot. My eyes watered but I didn’t let the tears fall, not for them to laugh at me even more. I resisted the urge to cover my face with the blue folder and finally the substitute teacher arrived, quieting everyone down and taking their attention.

My friends comforted me during recess, calling it soft and cute as they fluffed up my hair. But the damage had already been done. I was able to forget it for the rest of the day, but it’s always stayed in the back of my mind. Even now, as I write this.

The sound of my crying and screaming resonated throughout the bathroom, but the sound of laughter resonated throughout my head.