New Zealand

"Let the world shine through you and throw the prism light, white hot, onto paper."

growing up

April 21, 2019

1. My childhood tastes like lime cordial. Years ago it was sweet but now the aftertaste has grown bitter in my mouth, and I think perhaps that's what growing up is. Maybe the world just keeps on fermenting, turning acidic until we can't stand its bite anymore. 

2. Sometimes, my childhood feels like an old movie that I've only ever seen half of, glimpsed while flicking through the channels, or heard whispered in the background when I'm making lunch. So much of it is unfamiliar, and I can never quite remember its name. 

3. And when I close my eyes, it sings to me like a record. It skips sometimes, and so often it gets stuck in my head. I hear its warbling tune whenever my mind is quiet enough, a little muffled but warm, the way good music feels. 

+ But sometimes my childhood is nothing at all, and I feel static, as though I'm a single photograph with nothing preexisting or succeeding me, a solitary instant. Just a single moment suspended in time. But then the taste returns, the movie whispers in my ear, the song is on the tip of my tongue, and I remember. 



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