stories
-
And then I sit here, in the garden of my childhood house, and I cannot tell anymore what kind of person I would be if my father were still alive.More confounding yet, I’m not sure if I could give it up for just one more day with him anymore. I used to think that; that
-
I lived to feel, just like an emotional junkie, until it hurt too much. So I start living for what I should feel; emotions suppressed, all in control. It also failed spectacularly. Now I am learning to accept that I should live for my gut feeling, however scary that may be.
-
I feel his eyes on me, again.It has been a habit since we started working together, even amid the crowded room where we heatedly debate this merger.I keep the silence as my weapon. I lean forward with my elbows on the table, slightly biting my fingers, while I wait for some kind of truce between
-
Sometimes I sit in silence and cry for her. Have this need to cry for all the love she did not get, for the abandonment nights, for the neglect of her feelings. Need to cry for every time she thought it was her fault, she had needs that could not be met. For all the
-
I was very young, barely 13 years old, when I overheard comments about my body, my allegedly lifestyle, my teenage choices. Hurtful, malicious words spread out by people that should love me unconditionally. And that was the worst of it. If they thought that about me, what would strangers think? The self-loathing that followed was
feisty mind 