EmotionalRealism
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The day was like any other. Just a regular day with a crappy schedule.Just another appointment with my mother at the hospital.Just a small hope that maybe this latest disease progression was a reversible mistake. Well, it is not. Today marks the day she is officially in palliative care.You’re welcome.We manage pain and discomfort now,
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Maybe, just maybe, I need to let the words out.But words shouldn’t be released.Words should stay inside, for the sake of everyone else. I could scream.I could let everything spill out from my clogged pores.But then again… adulthood.My most detested hood, without a doubt. Being an adult means knowing the consequences, and worse, caring about
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Old objects bring me solace—small bits of memories encapsuled by hard exteriors; the hourly chime of the pendulum clock, the aluminum butter dish from my grandparents’ summer house, the ’80s coffee cups from my parents’ wedding gifts, the hundred portraits spread over all home surfaces. I like to be surrounded by it, the nostalgia, the
feisty mind 