I grew up in a strict authoritarian household where I had very little freedom. It was a house in which you had to ask permission to have a glass of water — because after all, someone had to wash it later.
A promise to be the person who washed the glass wasn’t good enough. » Read more
It’s been decades, but I still vividly remember my old elementary school. It was a brick building. Standing outside at recess, I’d often stare at those walls, fascinated by the flaws in the blocks, the cracks and places where they were uneven. I was generally a talkative kid and often very social but occasionally I’d get overwhelmed. » Read more
PQ 6.5 — Do I look for hidden meanings in other people’s words? Do I bury my real meaning?
She is the most beautiful woman in the world. We’re whizzing down the road. A rural route. Trees rush by. She’s in the driver’s seat, like always. Her long black hair glints in the sun. » Read more