unicidades

Image: Sunset by Elton T. Shapiro 2015 The painstakingly aching feeling of knowing one is not loved by anyone  Janine Rodrigues My brother and I used to dream about Africa when we were little. We knew that Africa was on the other side, across from the Atlantic Ocean, under a different sky. We had no clue how far it was to get to that other side, and I guess that was one of the beauties of being a child: not knowing. Today we know the distances all too well, and maybe that's why we are so far away still: far away from those memories, far away from each other, far away from Africa. Just like the red and lonely sky in this photograph. Open arteries in the sky, my eyes shout effervescently. I hide a tear that stubbornly reveals how I feel about what I see on his wall. I kiss an African red. My arms are not long enough to belong in there, to belong. Not even that. All of a sudden, I am seven years old again. I remember the hidden meanings in the surroundings. ...

The Yellow of Your Eyes Photo by Sharmila Ravindranathan Somehow, I thought your yellow eyes were sincere. Just like a sunflower moving, rotating with the sun. I was your sun. But instead you just wanted me to be your sin.  How disappointing for me  it is to find that your yellow eyes were not Love makes us wear rose-tinted glasses, doesn't it? But for how long?  You held me so closely and no, our story was not different  Even though we had so much in common and I thought for a moment that our destiny had been closely mapped by the stars, we were just  The stars were there watching us with a full-moon  I think even the ocean was a witness  But I don't want to describe what was among us The past is the past The yellow of your eyes remains Touched by a bee in a rainy day Like if roots could  I bite my nails alone and soaked from the rain - I cough the desperation of pores that breathe passion And yet, my e...

Your dad needs help and cannot live alone anymore. He has been found several times cold and unconscious. He hasn't been eating properly. What are you going to do about that?  These words are still echoing. What can I do about a father I never had?  My father has been diagnosed with Progressive Supranuclear Palsy or PSP.  I don't know much about it - except that it is not curable. He is 63. We haven't spoken to each other since 2013. I have no desire to do so. I offered some financial help and so did my brother. I am surprised with this turning of events.  Not only did my father survive my mother, but he will also, I am afraid to say, as opposed to her, die a slow death. It seems like even in that regard they could not agree or be similar. Not even once. They were married for 33 years when she died. I didn't use the word happily. Now that I think about it, their marriage helped me learn and conceptualize the word happiness. Their marriage was anything, b...