I could have taken the wheel, and steered the ships through their storms. I could have noticed a malfunction, and asked for a reprogramming. I could have stayed drowning, plunging deeper into the depths of my lifelong imprisonment. I could have wandered the shadowed confines, seeking an escape, only to get comfortable. I could have helped spread this madness, infecting the ones I love the most, carrying my ambitions on a stretcher, only to pull the plug. I could have constructed my tombstone using the fallen pieces of shattered dreams.
But instead I wrote. - K
April 22nd, 2018
photo by natanaelginting
artwork by Annette Kim
excerpts from "Lost in Thought"
Kate wearily got out of bed and meandered to her kitchen, where she poured herself a cup of coffee. Sitting at the counter, she reached for the remote and turned on the TV. Chris Cuomo appeared, with the headline underneath: 7.1 Magnitude Argument with Parents.
“Our main story is still Raj’s argument from last night, reaching a magnitude of 7.1... We’re now joined by Kelly Leona. Kelly, any new details?”
“A few updates, Chris,” Kelly said. "As mentioned before, Wednesday night’s argument was with both parents, though most of the damage comes from Mom. We have about three fires in the amygdala, and the Writing Major Topic has officially been labelled a seismic danger zone.”
Kate turned the TV off, uninterested. Yes, she was aware that arguments were utter tragedies. But recently, arguments seemed almost like an everyday occurrence. Since the dawn of College season, things had changed. It started with a lingering bitter wind, persisting through seismal arguments and Category 4 shitstorms, leaving an aura of anxiety across the state. ... Then it happened. Kate still remembered the day vividly, opening the paper and seeing the headline, “Rejected by Top 3 Choices.” The clout of those words sent ripples of angst through Kate’s body, causing her stomach to drop. The sky turned to a faint, dusky grey. The town went numb.
April 19th, 2018
artwork by Annette Kim
Our walls were constructed from the moving parts of our twisted worldviews. You never understood what I said, but you still listened. We kept listening until we no longer seemed foreign.
I never knew what to tell you. Something witty, but not too clever. I sat in my room, composing possible conversations, like a socially awkward Beethoven deafened by your sugary glances. Your skin was brown and glowing and you felt soft and wrong and you knew it and I didn’t care. We should’ve cared.
Your father arranged you to another man after I left. A better man, whose family had more maids than family members. I never saw your face when you accepted. I never saw your face during your wedding. I never saw. I wonder if you understand what he says. - K