On Spring and Grace

  Anguish by August Friedrich Schenck If you're looking for her, she's dead; I buried her a long time ago. You see, I had no choice but to get rid of her. If you're searching for the young girl who danced with naivety and wore trust like fragile glass, she's gone, long gone. But even though I let her go, I found someone better: someone brave, kinder yet firm. A person unafraid to say "No" because she knows she doesn't deserve to be treated wrongly or looked down upon. Someone unafraid to speak her mind because she understands the importance of being just and fair, not just for herself but for those around her as well. It was uncomfortable to be with her initially, but I slowly embraced it. I started to like her, and she became my friend. Being with her means I have to get used to every depth of her being, her happiness, sadness, playfulness, anger, anxiousness, and even her loneliness. Although there were times I was angry at how foolish, uncertain, and ig...

  Untitled, cover for the magazine 'Grua', 1957 - by Leopoldo Pomés (1931 - 2019) Lately, I keep finding myself struggling with this hard truth: when you leave a place that meant the world to you, the people you left behind eventually move on, and sometimes, they let the memory of you fade too. It’s not just that they forget the little things or your physical presence. It’s the way they slowly forget who you really were, how well they once understood you. That connection? It disappears. And what’s left are distant looks, furrowed brows, and my tired eyes silently pleading, “I haven’t changed. I’m just tired of always being the one to reach out. I just wanted to be seen. To be understood.” The sad part is, I knew this would happen. Even before I left, I had this feeling, this gut instinct. That the moment I stepped away, everything would shift. And it did. They moved on. They managed without me. And while part of me is genuinely glad they’re okay, another part aches. It hurts to...

  From my camera Once again, we were having dinner, laughing about how exhausting, complicated, but fulfilling life is. My eyes were on him as he asked what meal to cook for tomorrow. My voice went silent just as I was about to reply. Suddenly, he was no longer there. We weren’t at the dinner table anymore. Sometimes, I wish I had told you how, despite being tired at school, I enjoyed our dinner talks. They somehow eased the tiredness I always felt throughout the day. Sometimes, I wish I had told you just how incredibly funny your jokes are, or how endearingly silly you seemed when trying to bring joy to us. Sometimes, I wish I had told you how beautiful and calming your voice is, like sitting beside the ocean. Sometimes, I wish I had told you how good you are at playing the guitar. Sometimes, I wish I had told you how afraid I was of the dark. Sometimes, I wish I had told you how thankful I am that you knew my favorite food, when some parents don’t even know their daughter’s favor...