Personal Stories
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What Do You Want to Do with Your Life?
“What do you want to do with your life? For many people, including myself, this is a daunting question. “I don’t know.” “I have no idea.” “I wish I knew.” When this question is directed at you, do you feel a pressure inside your chest? Do you feel ashamed that you don’t know? I know I do. For me, the shame is amplified by the fact that I’m 50 years old. By social standards, I’m at an age where I should know what I want by now. Well, I don’t. Or do I? If you were unabashedly honest with yourself, would you actually know the answer? Is it possible that…
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Drunk with Love
Friday nights for most teenagers represents the beginning of an event called The Weekend. I’m not most teenagers. I choose my companions carefully. Depending on my mood, I either watch a sitcom or read Anne Tyler novels. “Oh, Grace, you’re so boring!” my best friend Farrah says, stretching the “boring” part. “Then why do you hang out with me?” I ask. “Because. You’re funny,” she says. “Oh, so I’m boring but funny at the same time?” “Uh huh.” “You’re not making any sense,” I say. Farrah tries to stifle a giggle. Her hazel eyes sparkle and crinkle at the corners. Her cheeks look like rosy dough. Gosh, I love her.…
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Close to You
I know you. I sit at the back of the class, my chin perched on my fists and drink in your every move. I memorize your profile. Etched in my mind is your Roman nose and your wispy eyelashes blinking against the sunlight. I marvel at the even distribution of golden hair on your perfectly proportioned legs and how your shoulder blades and spine stretch your white Vuarnet T-shirt. I envy the lock of wavy hair that cradles your left ear, knowing its smoothness. Are you nervous? You have a habit of tapping your feet and chewing on a blue PaperMate pen. I wish I were that pen. How could…
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My Love
In the morning your eyes pink from sleep gaze at me. Your long curly eyelashes surround a mystery – hazel windows to your soul. There is substance there, in your eyes – a depth I want to explore. You lean over for a kiss I’m hesitant to give. Morning breath, I explain. You don’t care. Your thin lips feel surprisingly full and soft on my mouth. They turn down at the corners – forever locked in sadness. On the night table stands a photograph of you as a boy. “This is the boy who will grow up to be the man I love,” I think. Your eyes so bright and…
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My Love/Hate Relationship with Writing
Writing is hard. If you write, maybe you have a love-hate relationship with writing too. As difficult as writing is for me, it has been a big part of my life. I started writing in journals and writing short stories and bad poetry at a young age. I did it for myself – because I felt compelled to. Writing was my refuge of sorts, a way to express my personal thoughts and feelings. A way to be creative. But my relationship with writing changed significantly when I attended university. The stress and anxiety of writing academic papers and foolishly pinning my self-worth on earning high grades worsened my perfectionist tendencies. …
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Feeling Alone During the Pandemic
Another day. Another day that looks the same as the ones preceding it. I can hardly tell the days apart anymore. Does it really matter? I spend most days alone. Loneliness in a pandemic feels different somehow. I can’t quite articulate why, but there’s an invisible weight present. Is it that there’s another layer of uncertainty in the air? The longing for connection seems more impassable and out of reach. The physical barriers between us, the newly learned way of keeping our distance from each other, add to the feeling of disconnect and isolation. But it’s crucial for my mental and emotional health to leave the confines of my home.…