Inside the mind of an immigrant
I grip the knife in between my fingers as tightly as I can. My palms are so sweaty that I'm afraid the knife will slip through and clatter on the white marble floor. After every minute that passes by I rub my hands on my pants, trying to remove the moisture that's gathered on my … Continue reading The killing…
Why is it that sometimes our path is crystal clear, but our eyes become clouded? Why do we become so hollow when everything around us is supposed to fill us up? That’s how I feel right now, like a huge chunk of me is missing, or maybe I ripped it out. Maybe because I was … Continue reading The beauty of suffering!