Of course my flesh reaches for the earth. That is where it belongs.

And in these next 50 years you will eat so many delicious meals, laugh so many times with so many people you love, shout and scream and sing and cry and smile so hard your face hurts. And you will see such beautiful sunsets and feel fresh cold air on your face and feel warm and safe wrapped up in your favourite winter coat.

Because everything I do comes from that day when I was seven years old and I wanted to make my parents happy again.

Keep on growing up kid. Make mistakes, learn from 'em. And when life hurts you, because it will, remember the hurt. The hurt is good. It means you're out of that cave. But, please, if you don't mind, for the sake of your poor old dad, keep the door open three inches.

Whereas shuffling is nothing I can pride myself on. I am merely a vessel to be used. My consciousness is borrowed and something is processed while I’m unaware.

Baru thought, I am a daughter of Taranoke. I am born from the navel of the world. My home was made from the fire of the earth and the deep of the sea. I will not drown here. I will not drown your hopes, kuye lam.

Your picket fence was sharp as knives, I was dancing around it.

I wait gluttonously for God.

“What?” Baru shouted, offended on a deep and irrational level that things kept happening without her consent. “What?”

Modesty, violence, anger make me want to talk. Pain, too. You write like you kill. It comes from the belly and all of a sudden it's in your throat.