self-reflection through the week

on Mondays I am cold. it’s a product of the gradual cooling of the weekend, the bitterness moving skin-deep like the beginnings of frost on grassblades when the air turns breath into crystal.

on Tuesdays I am cynical. there is too much noise above ground, a relentless pounding of the dirt that shakes the soil and vibrates my soul.

on Wednesdays I am tyrannical to be around. I terrorize the neighborhood children with my half-crazed shouts of what adult-hood is like, tearing a part their dreams from the inside out.

on Thursdays I am forlorn. I’m not sure how I ended up the way I did, anti-social and vicious, but its nights like these when the weekend starting peaking over the horizon that my loneliness encloses in around me.

on Fridays I am downtrodden. the bubble of self-pity is fully ensconced now, the frigidness of cold clothes to skin feeling deathly like drowning. I want to sink into bed and sleep this ice away.

on Saturdays I am reminiscent. who thought the good old days had to be old? how old qualifies as such? I want to know who makes the rules and I want to know how to break them. a put a slice of bread in the toaster, and eggs on the pan.

on Sundays I dance. slowly at first, because it’s been a long time since I’ve moved like this despite the embarrassment. but to whom? it’s me and the radio in the living room, hot mug of tea discarded on the coffee table, sunlight seeping in slowly around the corners. the tune is slow but its plenty enough for this moment.

On Mondays I am cold, but at the very least not to me.

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Day 10: We’d like to challenge you to write a poem based on one of the curious headlines, cartoons, and other journalistic tidbits featured at Yesterday’s Print, where old new stays amusing, curious, and sometimes downright confusing.

I ran out of time to finish this poem but I didn’t want to submit something unfinished so I powered through, without any editing – this is half thought-out sentences and then just stream of consciousness. Although I’m not happy with the product (also partially because I haven’t read through it probably and just hit submit), I would like to return to this someday and work with the prompt some more, because if I had the time I think it could turn into something really fun.

ode to a nice patio chair

how it holds me in the perfect position
for a midday stretch & yawn
a cat curled up under that one spot of sun

earth-warmed & soft
loose as a new leaf
unfurling the philodendron

face upturned toward open sky
palm upturned in blessing
the sun quietly gifting me
a gentle moment of passage

to sit upon this nice patio chair
is a reminder that life always is
but every moment is one to be savored

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Day 9: Write your own ode celebrating an everyday object.

It was such a nice day today and I was outside doing homework on a coffee shop patio – one that I’ve been eyeing for so long but that has been too cold to venture out to until now! The weather was perfect and I just had to appreciate it by being outside.

totality at 3:13PM

cloudless blue sky darkens midday
soft breeze rippling through cherry blossoms
a ring of sunlight illuminated behind the
full black moon

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Day 8: Went off prompt today, but for a good reason! I was lucky enough to be in the path of totality for the eclipse and experienced it firsthand. Seriously such a cool experience, not only to see the moon slowly block the entire path of the sun, but also to feel the air getting colder around me and to see the sky darken like it was dusk – but in mid-afternoon. The streetlights turned on and it was amazing to just be surrounded by others also witnessing the same wonderful phenomena of earth, hearing other people’s quiet gasps of what exactly they were seeing. Moments like these remind me how cool our solar system is and how lucky I am to be living in a period where I get to experience things like this. Just another Monday, but a beautiful one indeed!

greetings from san junipero

I was at Tucker’s the other night
and thought of you. remember
the first time we danced here in the 80s?
I’ll never forget blasting Fleetwood Mac
in your convertible going 90
down these barren desert highways.
you know I’ll travel
through every single decade
just for another night by your side.

I’ve never felt more free than when I’m with you.

wish you were here;
the sunset’s beautiful as always

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Day 7: We’d like to challenge you to write a poem titled “Wish You Were Here” that takes its inspiration from the idea of a postcard. Consistent with the abbreviated format of a postcard, your poem should be short, and should play with the idea of travel, distance, or sightseeing.

I watched Black Mirror’s ‘San Junipero’ episode recently and thought it would be really fun to try and write a postcard from that destination, from the perspective of Yorkie to Kelly. The episode had me riveted trying to figure out what kind of destination San Junipero was, and I wanted to capture some of that wistfulness and freedom that San Junipero meant for its inhabitants. Really great episode, I recommend checking it out! (You can read a Wikipedia summary of the episode here!)

dumplings only come in pairs

“I’m gonna eat five today, mama, I’m not that hungry,” the little mouse says, perched on a hightop chair by the kitchen island, watching mama mouse stir the big ladle in the pot of boiling water with white dumplings that bob up and down to their own silent song. mama mouse’s apron is dusty with flour from pinching and folding the filling into those dumpling skins half an hour prior, the rolling pin and nearly-empty bowl of filling still left on the dining room table. clean up comes after the devouring, after all. mama mouse tsks, “you can’t have five, that’s unlucky. eat four or six instead.” little mouse sniffs. “and what does it matter? it’s just a number.” but little mouse eats six delicious dumplings when they’re placed in front of his little nose, happy for an extra.

years later, little mouse is trying to make dumplings of his own. the skins are store-bought – he never managed to master mama mouse’s perfect, soft and pillowy dough recipe, and the filling is only a shadow of what she used to make. still, when he plops the dumplings into the boiling water, they go in two at a time. when it comes time to eat, he eats ten this time – a perfect even number that fills his belly with warmth and a touch of luck from mama mouse.

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Day 6: We’d like to challenge you to write a poem rooted in “weird wisdom,” by which we mean something objectively odd that someone told you once, and that has stuck with you ever since.

I pulled from my own personal experience with food, which my mom has always been superstitious about – which has now, funnily enough, translated into my own life! So curious how these things get passed down. I’m not sure about the form, but prose/short story seemed the most appropriate at the time of writing this. Maybe I’ll experiment with a different form if I ever come back to this one, or maybe just expand it further into a short story!