A Writer's 21st Century Memoir.

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It Was Enough

alphabets-antique-black-and-white-952594I received a missed phone call while I was out in the garden. I try not to take my phone outside with me for fear of a cascading pile of rich dirt that would inevitably fall on top of the expensive device. And with drops of cool liquid from the watering canister sneakily trying to fall on to the dark dirt in a mission to make mud, I figured that I should keep my phone inside. The call was from a dear friend who had followed the missed call with a text message. It was the habit of my generation, in this day and age, to leave an intended message in the form of a text rather than one’s voice.

I picked up the smartphone and clicked the button on the side which would illuminate the screen and read the message, Hey, how is everything?  Read the rest of this page »

Time Flies When You’re Living Life

antique-classic-clock-1095601“God, I was just nineteen,” I said with a sigh of shock and a look of puzzlement. I couldn’t perceive how the years since undergrad had rolled by so quickly.

My younger sister, who was turning twenty-four soon, cut off my sigh to proclaim the truth with a bit of teasing tied into it. “No, you weren’t.”

It was true. Nearly nine years have passed since I was in my teens. And although I am constantly mistaken for a young college student, it has been years since I even stepped foot on a University campus. I had been hanging out with friends, that I didn’t know, but that I had been around for years now. I then thought back to all the people who I used to hang out with who have just become passing Instagram posts on my phone screen. Read the rest of this page »

The Breath of Summer

Writing about summer.I took a breath as I stepped out into the light. A familiar scent of dust covered asphalt gently baking like a sheet of homemade cookies in an oven brushed by me as I began to exhale. The subtle scent would sit on the tip of my nostrils as I walked to my car that was strategically parked under the eve of a nearby building’s roof. I felt a heaviness in the air as I sifted through the barely noticeable light summer breeze. It was undoubtedly warm outside, and the thermometer I saw, after I finally climbed into my car and turned on the engine, indicated that it was steadily growing warmer. Read the rest of this page »

Anonymity In Art: Novel House

art-brush-color-6368There’s an abandoned house tired with cracks that reveal its age. It is wearing thin of its drywall, and the structure seems to degrade and crumble right before the eyes of onlookers. It’s abandoned—but full. The white walls filled to the brim with large black letters, characters and shapes that have been strung together into a novel. The Chongqing Novel House in China draws hundreds of wanderers to the house that has itself become a story.

Scrawled on the walls by an anonymous hand is a tale of adventure and heroism. As you move within the house, you see diagrams and images which correlate along with the themes and the messages within the story, and by the house’s end, you’re left wondering, why? Read the rest of this page »

I Nearly Killed You

asphalt-automobile-automotive-125514I almost ran you over—but I didn’t. It wasn’t you, but the person who was walking across the street in that strange way that you used to walk looked just like you.

I only had a moment to look at that person’s face as I quickly rounded the street corner in my car extremely late for work. That person had no idea what thoughts ran through my mind.

That person was oblivious to how close I was hitting them. They looked back to me just as I looked back at them through my rear-view mirror, and all I could think in that swift glance was that I almost ran you over—but I didn’t. Read the rest of this page »

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