writer's block

it was blocked. no matter how she twisted and turned, no matter how she wiggled and tried to nudge it, to pry it free, it was blocked. there was a cold slab of marble remorse, of ivory sadness and opal resignation resting upon her head. worms became lodged underneath smooth stones in much the same way her writing was being smothered by the thousand emotions cluttering her mind.

"mostly harmless" meet "slightly different"

when she came back, sometime during that long descent from paradise back to earth, she thought of all the pictures she hadn't taken. she had, for instance, a picture of her with jan, a picture of her with judith, a picture of jan and judith, but no picture of the three of them. it was like a memory that had been stolen, a hole left in place of something precious.

contortions of a chameleon tongue

the children of immigrants are like chameleons - either that, or schizophrenics. maybe god gave them the gift of adaptability. maybe they can meld and morph into any situation, twist their tongues easily around any language, all because god is trying to compensate for something. for taking them away perhaps. the extra gift of belonging anywhere enables them to land on their feet like cats, in any situation, to make up for the instability of their legs in the first place.

but unknowingly, god created more problems. when you belong everywhere, you tend to feel like you belong nowhere - like you're stuck being the bridge, belonging just as much (or just as little) in one place as you do in another. it messes with your head, this walking the tightrope ALL THE TIME. but maybe schizophrenia is the side effect for just the first generation, and maybe a bit of the second. after that, it sort of melts away...

wanderlust begun

"i'm writing you to
catch you up on places i've been
and you...have this letter
prob'ly got excited
but there's nothin' else inside it
didn't have a camera by my side this time
hopin' i would see the world through
both my eyes
maybe i will tell you all about it when
i'm in the mood
to lose
my
way
with words..."

- "3x5" by john mayer

mostly, she was surrounded by friends. she would walk through the town and never fail to see someone she knew - dear friends, acquaintances, people she didn't know at all but who knew her. this tiny hamlet in the valley had given her a new family, and new eyes with which to see the world.

split lives, part II

trying this out to see if something comes of it - z

if you want to know the exact moment when her life split into two paths, follow amber's father to the embassy, where he has applied for a visa to work in the united states...