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When the flames die down and all that is left are the ashes, do not expect them to arrange into an apology. Do not weep for me with both your feet on solid earth. I walked in here of my own volition. But you were the one who paved the road…
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But you still flinch when nothing is raised. Wait for an angry entrance succeeding the slam of a door. Brace for a lash that won’t arrive. Anticipate the burn of a fire that will never be rekindled…
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What are we if not a vessel of opportunities waiting to be realized? Nothing gives your name more meaning than your responding to it, and purpose isn’t something to be sought but something that demands we show up…
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Someone calls my name—the one that fit my mouth when I was younger, when crying came easily, when this island cried with me—and it comes out two syllables instead of three, just the way my parents had intended. Cheng Jie. There is no Allison here. I answer out of equal parts muscle memory and guilt…
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the desk is altar and hearth / I am a religious cynic / I am still made of something that wants to be heard / hear me / hear me ask…
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He says my name and tells me he “had a really nice time today.” I think I like the sound of my name coming out of his throat. I choke on something in my own throat. I think I’ve been here before. I think I’ve seen this story play out before. I conveniently forget the…
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The slate is clean but the same cannot be said for my hands. You have no idea the kind of flood it took to get me here. The kind that skipped over everyone’s bed but mine; the kind whose violence is selective at best, blind at worst…
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It’s my birthday. I wait by the phone for my loneliness to dissipate. I wait by the phone. I wait for my loneliness. I wait to dissipate. I wait…
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I met god at a friend’s wedding. Disappointingly, god is not a woman. Even more disappointingly, god comes in the form of an ex-boyfriend. Which one does not matter—I sighed as an initial reaction all the same…
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Ask me where erased things go. They stay beneath the surface of the paper, never to be seen again. Success is to view the usage of an eraser more as inching closer to getting something right than making a mere mistake…
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Is all this prying worth it if I lose so much in the process? I long for some force to tell me whether this is a rite of passage for all my peers. Dare I be greedy and want things to stay the same while I hold new pearls in my scabbed palms?
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What is a name if not the very word that affirms your existence? What is an envelope if not a vessel for me to store my words in, but also for you to store your response in—even if it never reaches me?
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Ama how many times do I have to thread the needle for it to be strong enough to form a bridge / so I can return to my childhood / before time made a permanent mark on your skin / before it took away mama’s youth…
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Anger is always best declared in your native tongue. The justification of anger, however, is always better expressed in a second language that you have learned detached from emotions, structured by grammar and logic. But right now, neither language is working…
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I refuse to humiliate myself by asking for attention, but my eyes betray me. They yearn so terribly to be seen by some other. So when I cry, make a wish, why don’t you? And if you prove sincere, maybe the women before me will grant it to you as you put your hands around…
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In the kitchen, a bug lands on the backsplash. I wave it away and watch it attempt to fly out of the window. It will no sooner be consumed by a bigger bug. I return to the cutting board and curve my fingers over the onion. June will soon be gone…
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One never thinks that it would be more difficult to stay in a new place than to leave where you came from, especially after assimilating to timezones and tongues. After shortening your name for convenience’s sake and folding your traditions into 23kg luggage. Those who took doors off hinges should not be entitled to locks…
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The mermaid sits shimmering on my plate. Her tail swishes lightly and her scales glimmer under the sunlight. She’s been out of the water for long enough and should return. The fact that she cannot return has rendered her helpless and resigned. This is the perfect opportunity for me to begin my feast…
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I can surrender my dreams but not my words / my happiness but not my peace / is the color orange something one can surrender / and is surrendering the same as sacrificing?
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I don’t know the answers, but maybe you do. And if you do, you know to find me in the depths of the meadow, where I’m throwing sticks with a dog that no longer resembles a dog. And if you do, but you spare no desire to free me from my inked chains, I will…
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I’ll take every congratulations and sew them into wings, thank you very much. That way, even if I were to be cast out of the clouds one day, I’ll fall back on my triumphs…
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You are growling like a starved animal for the truth so I’ll throw you the meat. Open wide and bare your canines. I want to see you bite off more than you can chew. Have a cup of water on the side in case you find it hard to swallow. If you choke, do not…
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How much are you willing to betray for love? Ultimately, that’s what love is, isn’t it? An act of betrayal—or even the wish to betray. I don’t mean betrayal of your loved one, but rather the betrayal of your parents, your traditions, your religion, your country’s laws, and even yourself sometimes…
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The easiest thing we can do is to see the worst in each other. Hardwired biology—avoided, suppressed maybe, but never erased, always lurking in the depths of us…
Allison's Archives 