When I was five, you told me my milk chocolate skin was ugly, and trying to destroy it, I poured flour all over myself in the kitchen. I am still sweeping it from the tiles. 

When I was seven, you said my hair was dirty and told me to flat iron it until the curls never came back. I believed you, and I am still trying to undo the damage.

When I was ten you said my lips were so big you’ve seen mountain climbers never reach the top, cupid’s bow stagnant, so I pressed them together and never spoke.

When I gave birth to my first daughter, I promised myself she would be cherished. I tell my daughter everyday that she is beautiful, trying to make her love herself even though she is a minority. I tell her her skin is of cocoa that everyone wants to sip. I tell her her hair is a natural flourish of her culture. I tell her her lips are ones for her empowered to slip out of.

And I tell myself I am beautiful in efforts to forget your racism.

The scleras of his eyes were dark blood-red. He slowly approached me, almost as if in a trace. I felt the coldness of the wall behind me as I my back pressed against it. He leaned in towards me. “Please…” I whispered. “I’m not ready…”

“No-one is ever ready.” He hissed through his teeth, “But you must go.”

I winced at his words, and watched helplessly as he drew out a small but deadly knife. “Goodbye.” He whispered.

Darkness swirled around me and I began floating upwards. I stared at my crumpled body on the ground, and the man standing over it holding his knife stained with blood at his side.

Only a memory now. I was gone.

Anna gasped. “I can’t decide!”

“You must Anna,” Jane reminded her reassuringly.

“Some decisions are to difficult to be made,” she choked. “Why couldn’t Mom be here? She would know what to do.”

Jane squeezed her younger sister’s hand. “This is your choice, Anna. I can’t decide for you. You were made for this moment.”

The looming decision haunted Anna. Beads of sweat formed on her wrinkled brow. She must choose, and soon. This was a decision she would need to make over and over for the rest of her life... until she died. And she wasn’t dying anytime soon.

“Jane,” she whispered, unsteadily, “I’m ready.”

“You’ve got this,” her sister replied.

Anna stepped forward and took a big gulp of air. Her panic melted away.

“I’ll take a triple chocolate peanut butter surprise on a waffle cone topped with gummy bears, and chocolate Jimmies please!” she exclaimed.

“Finally,” sighed the exasperated server, “I thought you would never choose.”

Anna and her sister ran to meet their mom who had been waiting patiently in the car.

“What took you so long?” their mom asked.

Anna and Jane smiled at each other silently and licked their cones with relish.

Just a drop of the tea burnt my tongue, so I will wait. I tried to feel if it was cool without getting hurt. The ceramic cup was still hot, so I should have known better. I was impatient.

    The world is fading. Colors that appeared not long ago are covered, hiding back under the blankets of white. For the common symbolism of the most reflective color, it covers the sky and turns it dark. It looks as if a painter made the mistake of putting highlights of white upon the tops of every surface. The places where shadows would lie are now the only contrast, for shades and tones are overwhelmed by snow.

    I want to describe the world, but I am prideful. Words that others have used are not for me. For simplicity sake, I may have said: “the snow was falling, the world turned white.” But I worry about when we will run out of new words for timeless things. I strive to leave no phrase unturned, and my ambition will leave no words for you.

    My tea has not yet cooled, and it is the perfect warmth to drink. A deep warmth to counter the white.

Out the door I step: boots tied, coat on, hood pulled up, hands in gloves. The dim light of a snowy night engulfs me, as by the house’s light my shadow advances into the yard. My feet crunch soft and my eyelashes turn to ice and the peace of the night surrounds me. The darker forms of trees reaching into the silver sky call to me. I step over to a patch of clean beautiful snow between the hemlock and sassafras trees. The unpacked snow welcomes me as I recline. The cold touch of snow on my face asks me to relax. My mind quiets. All that exists is the sound of snow hitting snow, and the cold on my face. I fall into peace.

I’m walking down the street with my hand interlocked with Mama’s when I hear it. The word explodes as soon as it hits the air and I can feel Mama's blood boiling in her hand as she clenches my hand tighter and as her feet push against the ground, propelling us away as fast as possible. The word echoes down the street. I let it sink into my ear, feeling it dig its teeth into my skin. It settles in my brain, not to be forgotten. I whisper the word, letting it roll down my tongue, feeling it’s jagged edges. It leaves a bitter aftertaste.
I look up and see white people's faces everywhere glued to us. They say what a shame, couldn't imagine being you right now. Their stares bore into my soul as they look at me like a circus spectacle and for the first time I see the wall between me and them. I’m inside looking out. A second later they all stop staring, going on walking like they never saw the wall, but don’t they realize? Walls don't just fall like that.

Because once you build something, it’s a whole lot harder to knock it down.

snap. you and your white crepe dress, like the fragile wings of a dust-coated butterfly. our little sister swirled and twirled like a tornado around you. we watched her. you couldn’t get your hairstyle right because everything was “too,” but i thought those sweet swirls of gold were beautiful, prettier than mine. our mother said to dress up, so you tried to suck in your waist, tested a million shades of my lipstick, and smiled wide when they said cheese. they said you should post it on instagram and you did, but you frowned at each “like” until i told you, just delete it. later, we sat on top of the picnic table and picked at loose bits of wood, me in your old sundress and you in that ridiculous papery thing with your glass-sharp nails threaded through your hair. i was quiet because i thought if i didn’t say anything, maybe you’d forget. we both waited for something until you told me to turn away, but even without looking i could tell you’d taken off your veil and you were holding it in your arms at a distance, like you could pretend it was never even yours at all.

“Hello…. This is he….Yes, I just finished treating the patients Mr. Wesst and Mr. Chang, I believe they had a respiratory disorder of some sort, we should find out after the fluid tests come back… Yes please have them on my desk…Okay…bye-bye.”

“Hi baby and hi Mommy Marilyn I finally get to see my loves in a week…Yes, I’m finally off duty in Hong Kong after these 3 months…The hotel is good, nice breakfasts too...mhmm... Okay, see you soon...Love you too.”

“...Yes, I would like to request an ambulance...I don’t feel very well, I am having problems breathing...Yes, I am staying at the Pearl Hospital in Hong Kong... Thank you.”

“...Hi honey I’m leaving this message I was just checked into a hospital. I’m not feeling so good, I’ll call you later.”

“A Physician died yesterday from a new respiratory syndrome diagnosed as SARS, and he has been classified as a super spreader, spreading the virus to almost everyone on the floor of his hotel and those in the hotel spreading it across the globe.”

Awakened with vigilant senses like a hunted wolf, she calculated the distance to the bars, noticing rustling from another cell. Flung herself against the metal bars. It seemed the most appealing thing to do, it felt good. She tried it again and again...

It wasn’t helping. Collapsing in pain, her mind flickered with self realization. Of the fact that she knew nothing about herself or why she was here. Nothing but a vast blank space and the four letter word, “Rory.” It was capitalized. A name? To whom? She felt like a newborn baby.

Was it raining inside? Were those tears? Brushing herself off, though the only thing to “brush off” was worry. Unevenly she spoke.

“Hi ...” A small two letter word with great meaning, though she couldn’t recall the meaning.

“Hello!?” The response threw her into a protective stance. This unexpected synonym came from the wall. Silently, she pulled herself through invisible mud to where the voice had come.

She monotony repeated her word, “hi.” This exact same word was different. Still full of trepidation, but now noticeably crisp. Dead unbearable silence followed, it held the power to drive anyone mad. This black silence was suicidal and melancholy.

I walk into a smoke-filled bar spilling with Don Julio and in dire need of a spruce up. Extortionate prices have been slapped onto beers that taste too thin, too musty, and remind me of my late uncle’s apartment --- but I buy one anyways and imagine sipping on a vintage wine instead. Tonight, I turn my back against a poorly lit sign that reads ‘Tapa Bar’ and stalk a couple caught up in a debate so intense, neither notice my attempt to read their lips. A quarter ‘till eleven, and I still hear muffled voices but none that beguile me too much. As I tip the bartender to end an uneventful Saturday night, a woman leaves her husband with a stack of papers and cries:

No vale la pena, mi amor!