Reunion

Author’s Note: I wrote this for my Creative Writing: Fiction class as a scene assignment. Let me know what you think.

Clouds fill the sky, coloring the city grey and threatening civilians with rain. Alex feels the wind pierce through her thin jacket and settle into her bones, the late fall getting to her. She stands on the corner, facing the street, anxiously shaking her leg, and watches the cars slowly inch by.

“Late again,” she mutters to herself, as she checks her watch and looks down the sidewalks, where he was nowhere in sight. For once in his life, will it kill him to be early?

Alex exhales, exasperated, and crosses her arms, hoping that this would somehow protect her from the cold. Her leg continues to fidget. She thinks about all the other times he was late, to art shows, to celebrations, to other dinners. Add this to the count.

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When Trump Was Elected

election-reaction
Taken at a protest held at my school

Note: I wrote this in the early morning of November 9th. I was drained, I was behind on my schoolwork, and most of all, I was upset. Incredibly upset. And in this state, I wrote the following post, to document my feelings and my reactions. And as Trump gets inaugurated today, I can’t let myself forget how I felt and where I was and how I won’t stop fighting.

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And Countless Others #BlackLivesMatter

blm
Taken at Beyoncé’s concert on July 7th | “And Countless Others”

(I’m Asian American, and I’m usually wary of speaking about topics of race that doesn’t concern my own, for the fear of overstepping the line as my role as an ally to these movements. But after recent events, and just seeing these tragedies happen over and over again, it’s hard to sit in silence. Please let me know if I’m ever overstepping boundaries. Always trying to become a better ally.)

Michael Brown’s murder was something that hit me hard. When he died, he was in the same point of his life as I was. I remember seeing the picture of him in his cap and gown everywhere and feeling so much grief. Because I was a senior in high school too, I had pictures of me in my cap and gown as well. But because of actions of police brutality and racism—things that someone like me, in my own race and location, cannot relate to—only one of us would be able to graduate.

That was the moment when it really hit me, when I became so painfully aware of the injustices at the hands of those who are supposed to protect us, and the correlation of these deaths to the community they were happening in: poor, black communities. Of course, this wasn’t the first incident of things like this happening, nor is it the last, but this spurred an outrage in me that was previously sitting dormant, just waiting to erupt.

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Passionate

passion

We’re sitting in my room. It’s a small space, but it’s enough. Every object has its place; the bed against the window, the dresser and desk adjacent to that, a thin rug in the center of the room, a bean bag chair in the corner. Pictures and tapestries adorn the walls. It feels like home.

Sun streams through the window blinds, little columns of light brightening the bed you’re lying on. I usually don’t let others make themselves so comfortable in my space. After all, it’s my space. But you’re the exception. You always are.

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