weâre healing here. all of us. i never get very personal, never talk about facts more than i talk about feelings, about emotions. iâm not a selfish person in real life but in writing i am, and iâm realizing that this is nothing to be ashamed of. itâs motherâs day, and mama told me to write slaughterhouse poetry. raw words. things that start with butcher knives and end with massacres. but thatâs just it. i donât have anything left inside of me to pillage. i have lied to myself for so long about so many things that the truest things that i can convey are through fiction. writing about myself no longer seems real. all i know are feelings, sentiments, and the things that keep me up at night. all i know is that the cicadas are coming back this summer. all i know is that everything is returning, that the birds keep flying north and south, that iâm starting to feel okay about saying goodbye to a lot of people because i know that weâll meet again, sometime soon. time changes a lot of things. people grow, exponentially or glacially. people change according to their environment, adapting to new worlds, new universities, new countries. i read an article about my family that shook me up earlier this afternoon, but iâm learning that people can be different, they can be so different that it surprises you and amazes you and terrifies you. no story is black and white. everything is grey matter and we can never know for sure whose truth is true. my father is a greater man today than he ever was back then. my mother is healing, slowly. weâre all learning how to survive in this world where fewer and fewer people are willing to take a bullet for another. i donât know myself at all, and itâs both terrible and wonderful that that is the case. but iâm growing. into what? i canât tell. into who? i will never know. i hope youâre having a wonderful day. i hope youâre healing, whoever you are â wherever you are. i hope that youâre getting enough fluids and eating enough vegetables and that you have regular bowel movements. i hope youâre being selfish, at least for a little bit, because we all deserve it in some way or another. everyone deserves themselves.Â
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