[13 January, 2012]

on being an immigrant 5.1

Everything I write on this topic seems trite. The words in my head fail me miserably. Is there really a way to describe the width and depth of a painful experience?


This picture is how I spent my adolescence. And even though I'm an adult now--an adult who doesn't always sit around sulking and who maybe has a better capacity for tolerating emotions--doesn't mean that somewhere inside I don't still look like this.

I often resort to wearing black, and now I know that it's because black actually is the color of my soul. At least for now, because I'm mourning. Turns out, my life has included a lot of unmourned things that require mourning. The best I can promise myself right now is that I will try as best as I can, considering I've had poor examples and little experience truly mourning losses.


I roll my eyes at myself and feel sad about meaningful parts of my life all at the same time. 

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