Lover of animals and classical music. On a moonlit quest to become a writer.
The Belly of a Whale
There is a secret I've been scared to tell you: Sometimes in winter, I dream I'm a ghost dissolving into frames, wilting in timelines from long ago. I weep at graveyards and weave like stagnant rain, irascible and tarnished. You're a ghost, too, all of your edges blurred and etched, but the candle of your heart is far too bright for my eyes. It looks like the moon, and I envy it. So I cry oceans and swallow the stars, hoping to be as vivid as you. Instead, I drown in my own solstice, and everything is spun in the ripples of your song.
- Runner-Up in Weekend Getaway Challenge
The Song Angel Road SingsRunner-Up in Weekend Getaway Challenge
We drove up the snowy, winding road toward the cozy A-frame cabin. That’s what Papa called it. A cozy cabin built with logs of oak in the shape of the first letter in the alphabet tucked deep in the woods, the white crescendo of winter enveloping it. A little place where Laura and I could withdraw from reality: my new job at the firm, Laura’s wedding, my hospital bill, Laura’s small business, Mama’s death.
Guppies and Anemones, Blobfish and The Like
My name is not Radish, but it's been my nickname since I could remember. Papa is partly responsible for it. I was born with perpetual flushing cheeks, and Papa couldn't help but find them the most adorable thing in the world, kissing them or pinching them. Later we found out the red patches on my skin were caused by rosacea. So, Radish stayed.
- Runner-Up in High-Ku Challenge
Last night I dreamt that I was dead and Mama wasn't. In the dream, the skies were purple, and the ocean swallowed the entirety of my body. Mama sat at the shore, waving goodbye with a rosy smile as if it was my first day of primary school, and after a few hours, I'd return to her.
all of him and all at once
i knew there was something about him. something tedious yet beautiful. his name was paulo. pau' when my tongue felt lazy. 'lo when i was kissing him and swallowing the olives of his eyes and breathing the sun of skin. before i met him, it was the rain and the wilting flowers and the shivering trees that fluttered between my lungs. it was the small unintentional disasters that carved a life in half– the shift of a season, the cadence of a song, or the way flowers wilt that made me feel love. but then it was more than that. falling in love with paulo, loving him, felt bigger than anything i have ever loved in this world. because of him, as stupid as it may sound, i learned what love is truly about.