I’m acting like the end of my first year in California is a big deal when it’s really not. It’s just another day amongst many more to come. Days I will continue to live, struggle through, win and lose to. But I am at the laundromat on a Sunday night again. If I’m not reflecting now, then when?
J. Cole’s ATM plays in my headphones. My laundromat snack of the week is bag of goldfish crackers. J. Cole thanks God his mother could not afford an abortion. Kali Uchis thinks about her unborn children. I think about the end of my relationship with #richTaiwaneseboy, which in part has to deal with the hypothetical: what would happen if I got pregnant?
And then my period came and all was fine.
It’s good to end my first year on this note. I was starting to envision a grandiose gesture. Love, laughter, a line or two. Except it ends like this. With the sound of washing machines and a guy who will not give up slurping his drink. Sniffing my clothes as it comes out of the washer. A flashback to Wednesday morning, when too much K-BBQ and soju made me shit myself. My eye is mysteriously pink. Tomorrow I have work and tonight I remind myself to sit up straight.
It ends like a blip in the road, like all things do
– the first year.
A STOR¥ BY ? 