my afternoons with mamu are fraught with sounds. buckets, bangles, utensils, punctuated by her cough. i seek so much in these afternoons. much of it is just escape- like it even exists.
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on what life meant to make out of faith
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Mamu touched my hair the other day and said: This is not the hair of the girl I birthed. What did you do to your hair? I touched my hair, im... -
i cannot imagine how you put up with a man who drags you by your nape and tells you to go to your room and puts you out in the night. it...
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