I always say
monsoon is what I associate
closely with home. Pala
tucks himself weakly into
his warm bed. A dim
rosary wound around his dark old hands. And Ama,
an image of domestic anxiety.
I took a lot of freedom in thinking I could
become something else─ a woman who did not
simply blame fate to escape grief.
Perhaps, I was foolish to think I was different
from my ama! Now I look
at my reflection and it
mirrors her pain, my hands or
her hands fidgeting
for comfort. I feel
I spot her
everywhere in me, except for her
So I stand here in an
alien land, which I always
thought was my own. Between
leeches and the mountains and the
of this village, I always
felt I was home.
But when I listen to my
grandmother, her tales of her home
unsettle me. With her
toothless grin, she recounts the
heyday of her youthful years. That wobbly
face gives way
to many emotions. For a moment
I can imagine the landscape of the land that
I cannot see anywhere on the world map.
About the writer:
Tashi (Instagram- @__tashi_) is passionate about fiction writing and poetry. She is interested in using these two genres to express her deepest thoughts and her most authentic self. She hopes to use words to seek courage and healing.