Short Talk on Slouching Towards Bethlehem
When Didion wrote of Yeats’ Second Coming, of the rough beast that slouches towards Bethlehem, waiting to be born, to encompass the Summer of Love and the things that were ending—I feel it in my throat, looking out into the future—mere anarchy, a ceremony of innocence, and a revelation at hand. 1919, 1968, and now in 2023—again and again and again.
Short Talk on Teenagers in a Pandemic
I was sixteen, then I blinked and I was twenty. You never feel your age again, and something deep was stolen from you. The joy comes back, but the grief remains, and you feel them both in every breath sometimes. Anne Sexton said, “I am a collection of dismantled almosts.” In another universe, anything was possible, in this one—this was it.
Short Talk on Time
I’ve never felt time linearly. I am every age I’ve ever been at once, and I feel myself experiencing them all at once sometimes. Every moment isn’t real because it’s already happened but I still grasp at them all as they slip away from me. Zeno’s arrow paradox says that for motion to occur, an object must change the position which it occupies. Motion is a plurality, for Zeno. Nothing is moving because in each and every instant it is stationary, and this will go on, infinitely.
Short Talk on Sisters and Best Friends
There is no answer but they are the answer. My ambition eats away at me on the best of days, but I know there is only one reason we are really here on this earth, and I find it in their warmth, in their presence, and their love. After River Phoenix died of a cocaine and heroin overdose, Keanu Reeves said, “He was the most beautiful friend in the world. Even now, I always remember River. He always seems to be there in some place of mine.”
Short Talk on This Kid
Someday this kid will get larger, David Wojnarowicz wrote. Someday this kid will come to know something that causes a sensation equivalent to the separation of the earth from its axis. He smiles at me, and the knowing that I feel is a lump in my throat, a burning in my eyes. Freedom is a gift, and I feel it so heavily in these moments. What luck, what joy. What grief, what heartache. How far we have come, and how far we have to go. It was all leading up to this moment, but the second we feel it, it’s gone.
Short talk on sports:
A community of competition pushing you to become better. The sacrifice that isn’t alwasy rewarded. A place to build yourself, become stronger, all while playing the sport you love.
Short talk on bananas:
A wonderful lightweight snack. Perfect for on the go days, and can be paired with condiments like peanut butter for its own flare. Great for the body, and a fighter against cramps. The bananas is so simple but so popular an delicious. Banana bread, banana pudding even more sweets that stem from the banana.
Short talk on blisters:
Ouch. Rubbing and rubbing. So tiny yet so painful. Blisters are a silent killer. Tiny but debilitating. You must take special care, or you risk infection; a door for many more problems.
Short talk on bodies
Ultimately, all bodies must animal. Must heave, must claw, must coil, must give. Salt, vinegar, milk. Balance. Must ache, must scarlet. Must hum desire. Must sing grief. Must birth: swallow sound taste sweat burn skin. Must touch, crack, open—weightless. Must sink. Whose flesh, whose bones are these?
Listen, I don’t know why I am.
I don’t know why I am. Listen.
Short talk on a half brother somewhere who looks like me
Who messaged me once, when I was too young and too scared to write back. He has: my sister’s eyebrows, her morena skin. I have: his forehead, his nose. His life. Ask me the worst thing I’ve ever done. Show me his teeth.
Short talk on vectors
When the world ends we will be there to see it. Will inherit nothing but movement and memory, will hang moon-pilled and current-heavy, gasping for shore. Circles upon circles. Droplets setting off ripples. A question: are you rooted? Another: are you also unmoored?
Short talk on Purok 4, Bankilingan, Tabaco City
Mama says she dreamt about him four times. He was watching her sleep. He was laying beside her. He was next to her in a pedicab, in a white shirt and a denim jacket, his leather bag over his shoulder, twenty-one again, already smoking. He was walking away, and she was watching him leave. Where was he going? Why was he leaving? I play the Carpenters and spin her like he used to. At night she prays, silent, to be with him again. I have: her eyes, his chin. She has: her mother’s hands, my bursting heart. He has: not left us, still. This is not the end, then. (And then.)
Short talk on lightness
When flooded with feeling: float.
A short talk on Facetime:
You answer the ringing. Connecting, connecting. Finally, you can see their face. You tell stories watching their face react even while miles away. Connecting, communicating, and loving.
A short talk on fairy lights:
Twinkling, cozy. My room became better once I strung them around. Little bulbs emitting just enough light to survive walking to the door at night. Not too much light for migraine days. Sleeping with them on, working through the nights, they are my light, just bright enough.
A short talk on the long walk:
Everyday life with POTS seems harder than the day before. Exhaustion from walking to class leads to a worse following day. How can that be, why can’t I just have one bad day, not 2? Longer walks are harder. I walk too fast. Forget to breathe. What else can go wrong? So much, so much can go wrong on the long walk.
Short talk on folding dumplings.
Our hands are powdered white, our clothes emit a dusty hue, and the surface of the counter suddenly resembles the aftermath of fresh snowfall. Flour is everywhere. We are breathing it in, choking on it. But the only sounds to be heard are the wooden thumps of a rolling pin fulfilling its God-given duty. Do you think anyone will ever want to marry you, she blurts out. Mom, I reassure her, it’s too early to worry about that. Except she wasn’t reassured. And now we continue folding dumplings in silence, tension crackling between us, a new seed of doubt planted in my mind.
Short talk on eating.
Food – it makes you so simultaneously happy yet unhappy. Eating was something you enjoyed as a child, where every dish was a dish worthy enough to try. But you overindulged, and now you walk a fine line between too much, too little, too full, too hungry.
Short talk on piano strings.
Somehow my little fingers managed to snap not one, not two, but five strings. All in chromatic order, all in the span of one month. It was competition season, and I was performing Chopin’s Concerto No. 1 in e-minor – a sprawling, grandiose, finger-torture-worthy, behemoth of a piece. Honestly, why is it not against the 8th amendment? Oh that’s right, it’s because Rachmaninoff and Liszt exist.
Short talk on skincare.
Three glass bottles, two miniature tubs, and one pump tube. Morning, night, rinse, repeat. Every day you mix and match serums. Those sharing the bathroom look at you as if you were some witch conjuring potions, but you don’t mind because you are too busy patting your face dry. It’s your little secret to long-term happiness – make sure to stick to a routine, and a good one at that.
Short talk on forgiveness.
She’s sullen and still a little bit angry from last night when she clomps down to the living room. Her dad, pretending as if the argument last night didn’t happen, gestures for her to take up the spot next to him. She plops down on their leather couch, and before she can expel words of protest, she feels a familiar weight on her head. It’s her dad, he’s patting her head. Suddenly all is well again.
Short Talks on Homework Music:
No matter how much or how little work I have to get done, the most important thing is music. I need music to be able to get work done. But I need the right type of music… meaning it must match my mood, the type of homework/class and be able to switch my productivity switch on. If my music doesn’t fit with the setting, then it can distract me and impact how much work I’ll get done that day. So thankfully, I have multiple playlists that can fit each of my academic moods and types of classwork.
Short Talks on Flowers:
I always question whether or not it’s better to buy real or fake flowers. Fake flowers don’t die on you, so there is no need to have a green thumb. You can have more diverse plants and not worry about where to store them. However, real flowers are beautiful and can brighten the room up with its pretty colors and nice aroma. Also, they can help with mental health, it’s been said that flowers can help with stress. Either way, it’s always nice to have some type of floral in your room.
Short talk on pencils
He moved away soon, sooner than either of us expected. There was an unspoken fear that lingered for months, but soon distance got the best of our contact. Glimpses of photos and short texts sustained my predilection, but there was no way to know if it was mutual. Sometimes I think about the skill with which he held my pencil over his paper.
Short talk on heat
Noon’s penetrating rays shine uninterrupted by clouds. Sweat dripping into my eyelashes and down my spine, hair sticking to my neck and denim shorts stifling my movement. I could feel the sun beginning to make its mark on my shoulders, and I worried about the stinging pain that would come tomorrow. The light freckles on the bridge of my nose were coming back; they returned stronger each year. I thought of how nice it was to be able to move my fingertips and toes without the caging cold of winter.
Short talk on touch
Almost like a needle dragging down my shoulder, the edge of her nail felt chilling. Not quite a haint, but not quite a real person. Goosebumps raised on my skin and I remained motionless.
Short talk on red
Choosing favorites becomes harder as you grow up. There’s too much to consider when deciding on a favorite food, favorite song, favorite animal, favorite book, favorite band, favorite movie, favorite friend. I find comfort in the shade I know I’ll always love the most out of the rainbow, and I allow it to color my life accordingly.
Short Talk on Oldest Sisterhood
It’s hard not to want to grab them and spin them in circles when you meet again. Your two sisters, your age, quite literally, by a matter of minutes. But you are older by that matter, and your little sisters will know it– when you were younger you were bossy, a little mean (who are you kidding, you were meaner than you know what to do with now), but now you try and try and try to be comforting, responsible, all things you wanted in the older sister you never had. You pick them up (the exuberance is hard to contain) when you see them. A small reminder that you can help them up.
Short Talk on Attending a Lecture
I don’t know whether to write this essay to be very long and meant to be read out loud in the style of a lecture to give the authentic experience of attending a lecture that is so long, winding in and out of itself and your attention as you listen, and listen, and listen; it is important to note that I’m sure you’ve already spaced out, and honestly so have I, I like my professor but it’s so early and I’m doing homework and not listening, are you taking notes, I’m checking whether or not it’s raining and kicking my umbrella under my seat to make sure I have it, texting my sister about her new girlfriend, making sure my friend is not going to visit her ex over fall break– wait, I missed that diagram they drew on the board, hang on, what time is it? Is class over?
Short Talk on Exercise
I’m a little annoyed at my father every time I exercise. I feel settled afterwards. Before, I used to wonder why I was restless, why I wanted to scratch someone’s eyes out (sorry) when they annoy me just a little. Why I want to bite my tongue so hard I bleed. My father, when I got this way, would say go for a run. Go work out. Go for a walk. You will feel better. And I thought, there is no way he is right because I don’t want him to be. I don’t want to be told what to do, least of all by him, by my all-knowing and little-understanding father. What does he know about me? Then, by chance, I go to practice or I get antsy enough to go for a run, and I briefly and joyously am upset with him as the post-workout exhaustion sets in as the irritation seeps out.
Short talk on Food
Cinnamon. Cloves. Chilies. Star Anise. These were the ingredients that the man had just thrown into the wok. She stood close around the wok, waiting for her turn to come. 2 hours later, she was almost there. The smells wafting in the air made her salivate and excited for the flavors that were going to hit her mouth when her turn came. Her mind could not focus on anything: not the assignment due later that day. Nor on the fact she had a date that night. All she wanted on that rainy Wednesday afternoon was that warm, spicy, and comforting bowl of noodles.
Short Talk on Weddings
She had been excited to plan her wedding. They had hired a DJ, not a band. The reception had a sit-down lunch. The big glass windows of their reception were perfect. It took them 2 months to find the venue. The theme of the wedding was pastels. Thus, her bridesmaids’ dresses were a beautiful blush pink. They matched the boutonnieres worn by the groomsmen. The rehearsal went off smoothly. The bride herself wore a white dress. Three-quarter sleeves with a V-shaped neckline. Mermaid cut. The orchestra played a beautiful rendition of “Can’t Help Falling in Love”. Her father walked her down the aisle. She was about to get married! Yet, she was not excited. Forcing a smile on her, she looked at her husband-to-be, whose eyes shone with tears. He, too, had a forced smile on his face. The same exhaustion she felt was etched on his face. They weren’t excited.
Short Talk on Restlessness
Fingers tapping the desk. He was tapping his foot constantly. Bobby knew it wasn’t right, but his mind couldn’t focus. He had about an hour to go before he had to turn in this assignment. Yet, he still remained unsure. He was jittery. Biting his nails now. He knew he had to turn it. Bobby’s advisor had told him that too. “The proposal is fine, son”. Those had been Professor Clark’s words. “How could he be so sure though?”, Bobby thought. 40 minutes to go. Bobby just couldn’t bring himself to turn this thesis proposal in. Not yet.
Short Talk on Photos
You see a picture on your phone. It takes you back to that day. You remember it so clearly, even now, almost 2 years ago. The funnel cakes were delicious. The rollercoasters were scary. The laughs, however, were the best part. You see another picture on your phone. Another bunch of memories come flooding back to you. A pink ethnic dress, and silver earrings gifted to you by your mother. You felt like a princess that day, twirling around, posing for pictures. You often forget about those days; those times you’ve spent with those people that you love so dearly. But then, you see a picture. And then, you suddenly remember it all. You’re back in that moment, feeling it all, once again.
Short talks on blooming
Champagne dresses and petticoats. A catholic mass initiates the start of her 15th birthday. She walks down the aisle, foot in front of the other, arms shaking with nerves. A dance commences after the ritualistic ceremony and she sits at the center of the crowd, as her father takes off her sneakers, replacing them with heels. A hand is extended out to her, requesting the father-daughter dance. “Why must these frail heels be the start of my blossoming? Why do shoes determine what I am? Is this all I am? “ She wonders.
Short talks on Reminiscing
Her thin eyelids fluttered shut while watching the faint light emitted from the television screen. One moment, she is watching the TV, another, she is in a dark room full of jingles from the spinning fan and the comforts of her bed. How did she get here? Eyelids flutter open and there in the room, she stares at her reflection—slight pigmentation marks her cheeks and forehead, prominent eyebags, and disheveled hair. Her face was no longer plump and flushed with red cheeks; she is old.
Short talks on numbers
You learn to count one, two, and three with your fingers, displaying your age on your stubby fingers with no knowledge or concept of time. Your age becomes a hindrance to your life – you wish to be older, to play with the big kids, to go out to concerts, to go out for a drink. Yet, you wish you did not dwell on those days. Reaching the number means no going back. You only go forward. There is an infinite number of numbers but no concept of infinity in time and life.
Short talks on time
Was it yesterday? Was it today? We no longer know what it is—it is just a mental construct of what we believe is passing. Sometimes, the mornings pass by like a blur with nothing to leave except the aching feeling that the day was wasted. There is never enough time.
Short Talk on Stillness
You cannot dance underwater unless you are a mermaid. Land dance, fluid and flexible in its intended environment, does not move in liquid. Nor do most acrobatics; cartwheels, jumps, somersaults not built for submersion. A handstand, though, is entirely achievable in water, nearly as easy as being upright. Instead of blue sky and fluffy clouds, you see dusty mud, tiny fish nibbling at your fingertips.
Short Talk on Hauntings
That anxious, prickly feeling on the top of your head in the middle of the night is not a centipede; it’s Emily Dickinson come to say hello. Close your eyes. Shake her hand. Let her whisper your thoughts in your ear.
Short Talk on Company
Sharks don’t notice much of what goes on underneath them; that’s why a remora is able to sneak up underneath and attach itself to the underside, feeding on whatever they find until its time to move on. Or maybe the shark does notice and simply doesn’t care, or secretly enjoys having the remora there. When it moves on, ever-focused on its own survival mission, maybe the shark watches it go with a bittersweet taste. It’s lonely to move at all times.
Short Talk on 1984
Somewhere in Missouri, there is a teacher handing out two books by the same author to different students. Some are capable and get a book they can read but don’t process. Some are more than capable and get a book they can barely read. Life goes on.
Short Talk on Speed
The old woman knows her surroundings, but not quite the ways they’ve changed, mutated since she last recognized them. She stops a young girl to ask about the library. Straight ahead, she hears, thanks the girl, then watches as she races away, not running, but at a pace befitting someone running from the future. The woman does not run or speed up, only continues on through half-familiar paths. One day, they will be the same.
Short Talk on Slouching Towards Bethlehem
When Didion wrote of Yeats’ Second Coming, of the rough beast that slouches towards Bethlehem, waiting to be born, to encompass the Summer of Love and the things that were ending—I feel it in my throat, looking out into the future—mere anarchy, a ceremony of innocence, and a revelation at hand. 1919, 1968, and now in 2023—again and again and again.
Short Talk on Teenagers in a Pandemic
I was sixteen, then I blinked and I was twenty. You never feel your age again, and something deep was stolen from you. The joy comes back, but the grief remains, and you feel them both in every breath sometimes. Anne Sexton said, “I am a collection of dismantled almosts.” In another universe, anything was possible, in this one—this was it.
Short Talk on Time
I’ve never felt time linearly. I am every age I’ve ever been at once, and I feel myself experiencing them all at once sometimes. Every moment isn’t real because it’s already happened but I still grasp at them all as they slip away from me. Zeno’s arrow paradox says that for motion to occur, an object must change the position which it occupies. Motion is a plurality, for Zeno. Nothing is moving because in each and every instant it is stationary, and this will go on, infinitely.
Short Talk on Sisters and Best Friends
There is no answer but they are the answer. My ambition eats away at me on the best of days, but I know there is only one reason we are really here on this earth, and I find it in their warmth, in their presence, and their love. After River Phoenix died of a cocaine and heroin overdose, Keanu Reeves said, “He was the most beautiful friend in the world. Even now, I always remember River. He always seems to be there in some place of mine.”
Short Talk on This Kid
Someday this kid will get larger, David Wojnarowicz wrote. Someday this kid will come to know something that causes a sensation equivalent to the separation of the earth from its axis. He smiles at me, and the knowing that I feel is a lump in my throat, a burning in my eyes. Freedom is a gift, and I feel it so heavily in these moments. What luck, what joy. What grief, what heartache. How far we have come, and how far we have to go. It was all leading up to this moment, but the second we feel it, it’s gone.
Short talk on sports:
A community of competition pushing you to become better. The sacrifice that isn’t alwasy rewarded. A place to build yourself, become stronger, all while playing the sport you love.
Short talk on bananas:
A wonderful lightweight snack. Perfect for on the go days, and can be paired with condiments like peanut butter for its own flare. Great for the body, and a fighter against cramps. The bananas is so simple but so popular an delicious. Banana bread, banana pudding even more sweets that stem from the banana.
Short talk on blisters:
Ouch. Rubbing and rubbing. So tiny yet so painful. Blisters are a silent killer. Tiny but debilitating. You must take special care, or you risk infection; a door for many more problems.
Short talk on bodies
Ultimately, all bodies must animal. Must heave, must claw, must coil, must give. Salt, vinegar, milk. Balance. Must ache, must scarlet. Must hum desire. Must sing grief. Must birth: swallow sound taste sweat burn skin. Must touch, crack, open—weightless. Must sink. Whose flesh, whose bones are these?
Listen, I don’t know why I am.
I don’t know why I am. Listen.
Short talk on a half brother somewhere who looks like me
Who messaged me once, when I was too young and too scared to write back. He has: my sister’s eyebrows, her morena skin. I have: his forehead, his nose. His life. Ask me the worst thing I’ve ever done. Show me his teeth.
Short talk on vectors
When the world ends we will be there to see it. Will inherit nothing but movement and memory, will hang moon-pilled and current-heavy, gasping for shore. Circles upon circles. Droplets setting off ripples. A question: are you rooted? Another: are you also unmoored?
Short talk on Purok 4, Bankilingan, Tabaco City
Mama says she dreamt about him four times. He was watching her sleep. He was laying beside her. He was next to her in a pedicab, in a white shirt and a denim jacket, his leather bag over his shoulder, twenty-one again, already smoking. He was walking away, and she was watching him leave. Where was he going? Why was he leaving? I play the Carpenters and spin her like he used to. At night she prays, silent, to be with him again. I have: her eyes, his chin. She has: her mother’s hands, my bursting heart. He has: not left us, still. This is not the end, then. (And then.)
Short talk on lightness
When flooded with feeling: float.
A short talk on Facetime:
You answer the ringing. Connecting, connecting. Finally, you can see their face. You tell stories watching their face react even while miles away. Connecting, communicating, and loving.
A short talk on fairy lights:
Twinkling, cozy. My room became better once I strung them around. Little bulbs emitting just enough light to survive walking to the door at night. Not too much light for migraine days. Sleeping with them on, working through the nights, they are my light, just bright enough.
A short talk on the long walk:
Everyday life with POTS seems harder than the day before. Exhaustion from walking to class leads to a worse following day. How can that be, why can’t I just have one bad day, not 2? Longer walks are harder. I walk too fast. Forget to breathe. What else can go wrong? So much, so much can go wrong on the long walk.
Short talk on folding dumplings.
Our hands are powdered white, our clothes emit a dusty hue, and the surface of the counter suddenly resembles the aftermath of fresh snowfall. Flour is everywhere. We are breathing it in, choking on it. But the only sounds to be heard are the wooden thumps of a rolling pin fulfilling its God-given duty. Do you think anyone will ever want to marry you, she blurts out. Mom, I reassure her, it’s too early to worry about that. Except she wasn’t reassured. And now we continue folding dumplings in silence, tension crackling between us, a new seed of doubt planted in my mind.
Short talk on eating.
Food – it makes you so simultaneously happy yet unhappy. Eating was something you enjoyed as a child, where every dish was a dish worthy enough to try. But you overindulged, and now you walk a fine line between too much, too little, too full, too hungry.
Short talk on piano strings.
Somehow my little fingers managed to snap not one, not two, but five strings. All in chromatic order, all in the span of one month. It was competition season, and I was performing Chopin’s Concerto No. 1 in e-minor – a sprawling, grandiose, finger-torture-worthy, behemoth of a piece. Honestly, why is it not against the 8th amendment? Oh that’s right, it’s because Rachmaninoff and Liszt exist.
Short talk on skincare.
Three glass bottles, two miniature tubs, and one pump tube. Morning, night, rinse, repeat. Every day you mix and match serums. Those sharing the bathroom look at you as if you were some witch conjuring potions, but you don’t mind because you are too busy patting your face dry. It’s your little secret to long-term happiness – make sure to stick to a routine, and a good one at that.
Short talk on forgiveness.
She’s sullen and still a little bit angry from last night when she clomps down to the living room. Her dad, pretending as if the argument last night didn’t happen, gestures for her to take up the spot next to him. She plops down on their leather couch, and before she can expel words of protest, she feels a familiar weight on her head. It’s her dad, he’s patting her head. Suddenly all is well again.
Short Talks on Homework Music:
No matter how much or how little work I have to get done, the most important thing is music. I need music to be able to get work done. But I need the right type of music… meaning it must match my mood, the type of homework/class and be able to switch my productivity switch on. If my music doesn’t fit with the setting, then it can distract me and impact how much work I’ll get done that day. So thankfully, I have multiple playlists that can fit each of my academic moods and types of classwork.
Short Talks on Flowers:
I always question whether or not it’s better to buy real or fake flowers. Fake flowers don’t die on you, so there is no need to have a green thumb. You can have more diverse plants and not worry about where to store them. However, real flowers are beautiful and can brighten the room up with its pretty colors and nice aroma. Also, they can help with mental health, it’s been said that flowers can help with stress. Either way, it’s always nice to have some type of floral in your room.
Short talk on pencils
He moved away soon, sooner than either of us expected. There was an unspoken fear that lingered for months, but soon distance got the best of our contact. Glimpses of photos and short texts sustained my predilection, but there was no way to know if it was mutual. Sometimes I think about the skill with which he held my pencil over his paper.
Short talk on heat
Noon’s penetrating rays shine uninterrupted by clouds. Sweat dripping into my eyelashes and down my spine, hair sticking to my neck and denim shorts stifling my movement. I could feel the sun beginning to make its mark on my shoulders, and I worried about the stinging pain that would come tomorrow. The light freckles on the bridge of my nose were coming back; they returned stronger each year. I thought of how nice it was to be able to move my fingertips and toes without the caging cold of winter.
Short talk on touch
Almost like a needle dragging down my shoulder, the edge of her nail felt chilling. Not quite a haint, but not quite a real person. Goosebumps raised on my skin and I remained motionless.
Short talk on red
Choosing favorites becomes harder as you grow up. There’s too much to consider when deciding on a favorite food, favorite song, favorite animal, favorite book, favorite band, favorite movie, favorite friend. I find comfort in the shade I know I’ll always love the most out of the rainbow, and I allow it to color my life accordingly.
Short Talk on Oldest Sisterhood
It’s hard not to want to grab them and spin them in circles when you meet again. Your two sisters, your age, quite literally, by a matter of minutes. But you are older by that matter, and your little sisters will know it– when you were younger you were bossy, a little mean (who are you kidding, you were meaner than you know what to do with now), but now you try and try and try to be comforting, responsible, all things you wanted in the older sister you never had. You pick them up (the exuberance is hard to contain) when you see them. A small reminder that you can help them up.
Short Talk on Attending a Lecture
I don’t know whether to write this essay to be very long and meant to be read out loud in the style of a lecture to give the authentic experience of attending a lecture that is so long, winding in and out of itself and your attention as you listen, and listen, and listen; it is important to note that I’m sure you’ve already spaced out, and honestly so have I, I like my professor but it’s so early and I’m doing homework and not listening, are you taking notes, I’m checking whether or not it’s raining and kicking my umbrella under my seat to make sure I have it, texting my sister about her new girlfriend, making sure my friend is not going to visit her ex over fall break– wait, I missed that diagram they drew on the board, hang on, what time is it? Is class over?
Short Talk on Exercise
I’m a little annoyed at my father every time I exercise. I feel settled afterwards. Before, I used to wonder why I was restless, why I wanted to scratch someone’s eyes out (sorry) when they annoy me just a little. Why I want to bite my tongue so hard I bleed. My father, when I got this way, would say go for a run. Go work out. Go for a walk. You will feel better. And I thought, there is no way he is right because I don’t want him to be. I don’t want to be told what to do, least of all by him, by my all-knowing and little-understanding father. What does he know about me? Then, by chance, I go to practice or I get antsy enough to go for a run, and I briefly and joyously am upset with him as the post-workout exhaustion sets in as the irritation seeps out.
Short talk on Food
Cinnamon. Cloves. Chilies. Star Anise. These were the ingredients that the man had just thrown into the wok. She stood close around the wok, waiting for her turn to come. 2 hours later, she was almost there. The smells wafting in the air made her salivate and excited for the flavors that were going to hit her mouth when her turn came. Her mind could not focus on anything: not the assignment due later that day. Nor on the fact she had a date that night. All she wanted on that rainy Wednesday afternoon was that warm, spicy, and comforting bowl of noodles.
Short Talk on Weddings
She had been excited to plan her wedding. They had hired a DJ, not a band. The reception had a sit-down lunch. The big glass windows of their reception were perfect. It took them 2 months to find the venue. The theme of the wedding was pastels. Thus, her bridesmaids’ dresses were a beautiful blush pink. They matched the boutonnieres worn by the groomsmen. The rehearsal went off smoothly. The bride herself wore a white dress. Three-quarter sleeves with a V-shaped neckline. Mermaid cut. The orchestra played a beautiful rendition of “Can’t Help Falling in Love”. Her father walked her down the aisle. She was about to get married! Yet, she was not excited. Forcing a smile on her, she looked at her husband-to-be, whose eyes shone with tears. He, too, had a forced smile on his face. The same exhaustion she felt was etched on his face. They weren’t excited.
Short Talk on Restlessness
Fingers tapping the desk. He was tapping his foot constantly. Bobby knew it wasn’t right, but his mind couldn’t focus. He had about an hour to go before he had to turn in this assignment. Yet, he still remained unsure. He was jittery. Biting his nails now. He knew he had to turn it. Bobby’s advisor had told him that too. “The proposal is fine, son”. Those had been Professor Clark’s words. “How could he be so sure though?”, Bobby thought. 40 minutes to go. Bobby just couldn’t bring himself to turn this thesis proposal in. Not yet.
Short Talk on Photos
You see a picture on your phone. It takes you back to that day. You remember it so clearly, even now, almost 2 years ago. The funnel cakes were delicious. The rollercoasters were scary. The laughs, however, were the best part. You see another picture on your phone. Another bunch of memories come flooding back to you. A pink ethnic dress, and silver earrings gifted to you by your mother. You felt like a princess that day, twirling around, posing for pictures. You often forget about those days; those times you’ve spent with those people that you love so dearly. But then, you see a picture. And then, you suddenly remember it all. You’re back in that moment, feeling it all, once again.
Short talks on blooming
Champagne dresses and petticoats. A catholic mass initiates the start of her 15th birthday. She walks down the aisle, foot in front of the other, arms shaking with nerves. A dance commences after the ritualistic ceremony and she sits at the center of the crowd, as her father takes off her sneakers, replacing them with heels. A hand is extended out to her, requesting the father-daughter dance. “Why must these frail heels be the start of my blossoming? Why do shoes determine what I am? Is this all I am? “ She wonders.
Short talks on Reminiscing
Her thin eyelids fluttered shut while watching the faint light emitted from the television screen. One moment, she is watching the TV, another, she is in a dark room full of jingles from the spinning fan and the comforts of her bed. How did she get here? Eyelids flutter open and there in the room, she stares at her reflection—slight pigmentation marks her cheeks and forehead, prominent eyebags, and disheveled hair. Her face was no longer plump and flushed with red cheeks; she is old.
Short talks on numbers
You learn to count one, two, and three with your fingers, displaying your age on your stubby fingers with no knowledge or concept of time. Your age becomes a hindrance to your life – you wish to be older, to play with the big kids, to go out to concerts, to go out for a drink. Yet, you wish you did not dwell on those days. Reaching the number means no going back. You only go forward. There is an infinite number of numbers but no concept of infinity in time and life.
Short talks on time
Was it yesterday? Was it today? We no longer know what it is—it is just a mental construct of what we believe is passing. Sometimes, the mornings pass by like a blur with nothing to leave except the aching feeling that the day was wasted. There is never enough time.
Short Talk on Stillness
You cannot dance underwater unless you are a mermaid. Land dance, fluid and flexible in its intended environment, does not move in liquid. Nor do most acrobatics; cartwheels, jumps, somersaults not built for submersion. A handstand, though, is entirely achievable in water, nearly as easy as being upright. Instead of blue sky and fluffy clouds, you see dusty mud, tiny fish nibbling at your fingertips.
Short Talk on Hauntings
That anxious, prickly feeling on the top of your head in the middle of the night is not a centipede; it’s Emily Dickinson come to say hello. Close your eyes. Shake her hand. Let her whisper your thoughts in your ear.
Short Talk on Company
Sharks don’t notice much of what goes on underneath them; that’s why a remora is able to sneak up underneath and attach itself to the underside, feeding on whatever they find until its time to move on. Or maybe the shark does notice and simply doesn’t care, or secretly enjoys having the remora there. When it moves on, ever-focused on its own survival mission, maybe the shark watches it go with a bittersweet taste. It’s lonely to move at all times.
Short Talk on 1984
Somewhere in Missouri, there is a teacher handing out two books by the same author to different students. Some are capable and get a book they can read but don’t process. Some are more than capable and get a book they can barely read. Life goes on.
Short Talk on Speed
The old woman knows her surroundings, but not quite the ways they’ve changed, mutated since she last recognized them. She stops a young girl to ask about the library. Straight ahead, she hears, thanks the girl, then watches as she races away, not running, but at a pace befitting someone running from the future. The woman does not run or speed up, only continues on through half-familiar paths. One day, they will be the same.