i don't know how to eat a mango.
i could google it. i could watch a hundred youtube videos.
i should know how to do this. is it not the fruit of my people?
i don't really have a people.
feeling very 'other' lately. like i'm special but in that bad way kind of special. it's easier to cast my lot with american. i grew up drinking juice out of metallic pouches and eating cereal that tore up the roof of your mouth. i was born here. i only speak english.
i had a job in belmont once. 6 of us squeezed into a tiny office nestled in a weird strip mall off of el camino real. 3 white men and 2 filipinos. i was the whitest person there. my bosses grew up and spent more time in the phillippines than i had and the language would switch when they wanted to discuss things they didn't want me to know about.
i've lost my ability to grasp meaning from the few words i knew. as i grew, more and more words slipped from my brown, out my ears, needing to make room for more interesting things. whatever things teenage girls liked.
wild writing starts back up in september but in the mean time i've signed up for 27 days so i can do it on my own. i've only managed to word vomit my feelings in a non-pretty way. i've only managed to be 1/2 way through michael arceneaux's memoir. the part where he's currently broke in LA and how it mirrored a lot of my same experience of the sprawling city. carless. broke. embarrassed about being carless and broke and how that keeps you lonely in a place that is already designed for peak loneliness.
we had a two day break in the heatwave but that's pretty much over. my inherent asian anxiety wants to keep me living in fear of wasting every singly privilege i have. the rest of me is trying to take a staycation.
therapy should be interesting.