The Wild Onion

The Union Station bench smells like vinegar. I sweep the salty seat with my fingers before sitting, and smell my hands.
          Sour.
Ketchup remains after being licked off by Chicago.

Track numbers echo repeatedly. Those who don't keep up with the city, those who sit instead of flee, become consumed with insanity when hearing the repetitive broadcast, seeing the same types of scurrying business people going up and down the escalators with ice cream cones in their hands.

Or maybe to be a Chicagoan is to be crazy, to linger where others scurry,
to sit beside a homeless man as he opens his can of tuna and eats with a plastic fork, some tines broken off like his teeth. He asks people for smiles and not coins to put in his coffee cup.

A man with no legs in a wheelchair tells me to "smile, girl" as I pivot past him across Madison. I shyly smile like a child pleasing a school photographer. He mumbles a "there ya go" as he rolls behind me, the wind laughing through my hair as it shades my face.

Chicago sits in a corner with a homeless man, peering behind an "Unemployed" sign, stealing a coin from the Saxophone Man's hat.

And then you realize, the city is not crazy, just an undulating wave of highs and lows, rich and poor, and loud heels and broken heels [in manholes].

I thought too much and my head was hardening, so I went downstairs and put water in a large pot and started peeling potatoes. Just sitting on the cold kitchen floor and watching the brown skin elegantly slice into the trash felt new. A newness was there; I was just peeling away the old, the grainy cloak filled with dirt. New was there. Old was just being taken away. Well, nothing is ever really new...just a taking away of the old and revealing what was hidden for so long, boiling in the trapped heat, its structure melting and slouching. Peel away the shell and feel the tender, cold touch of new. She's waiting to be opened.

Happiness Hit Her

The speed jolted through her body with a pang, shattering her peeling snake skin. Every sensitive touch tickled her nerves and she laughed with watery eyes.

Haunt

And then there was light. The emptiness in the sky cracked and the sun proved its existence. It was as if it shone for her, gifting her with a speck of color, a warm radiance of life, a hint of nourishment. She squinted into its bold rays, knowing it would speed hastily away and fade like a mist behind the foggy clouds. So she tested her fear and hid herself away, turned the lights on and closed the bathroom door. The light was still shining through the cracks, and the blue of her walls were beaming with a clean white hue, not an artificial paleness. With the doors closed, she could see the clouds opening its jaw for the sun to peak through, curling out its rays like newly bloomed petals. The sun winked through the cracks and pierced through her skin like lasers.

She closed her eyes in the bath, her ears deafening with the sound of water thrusting through the pipes, feeling like little pebbles against her back. The water began to roar through her foamy hair and she opened her eyes with quick gasps, startled with the sudden terror that came from beneath the hidden shadows. A hidden shadow? she laughed in fear, pierced by her own shaky voice. Where could a shadow hide? Behind the deceiving sunlight?

Her chest began to tighten and her short breaths became heavy. She told herself to focus on her routine.

Shampoo is for cleaning the hair and scalp.
This scrub is from Syria and it scrapes away the blemishes.
This soap leaves a sugary scent on my skin.

Blood quivered through her veins with a rhythmic pulse and she glared at the sun's glare with her thighs throbbing with dread. The apparition of faces echoed against her window now, and the sun took back its heat, leaving her with a dry hunger. Defeat socked at her heart and pounded her in the stomach. Her organs tightened up and stung with acid as her body ruthlessly vomited the poison inside. How could such a reeking puree exist in such a being? It forces out the body as one cries out for a settling breath and the vulnerable organs are bitten with sting.

But this feeling of hers was a dry pounding and it bruised more than it stung. She had lost every amount of healthy moisture from her body, and she remained a cracked being. The sun made her sweat like a wet rose until it sucked out the life from her, shriveling her up into a naked widow, wrinkled with death.

Palm Sunday

I woke up at 8:30 this morning...so tired. I went to church with my mom and brother and it was completely filled because it's Palm Sunday. I'm so thankful that I actually got a seat; the place was crowded and people were standing on the sides. I was so incredibly tired and I closed my eyes while sitting. I felt my body collapsing and it was so aggravating trying to hold it together and keep my posture. But I was slowly falling to sleep. And as usual, I thought back to an old memory I had with someone and pictured how my life would be right now with that person. I thought of holding him and wondering if it would be the same. It ached thinking about him but I still continued to do it. But, all of a sudden, I woke up and realized that what was before my eyes was my reality. I saw life. I saw color and gold and sunshine. I looked around at the people, and I stared at an old man turning his head and just the movement of his head was fascinating to me. This was real and it was so beautiful. I felt so ashamed to be thinking about something else when what's in front of me is beautiful. Grandmas silently singing with the choir, old men smiling at everyone, and the golden light creating slight shadows around the wooden church. When realizing the beauty around me, I couldn't help but feel corrupted and guilty, living in the past and not enjoying what I'm currently stepping on, sitting on, holding on to. 

I also forgot to mention that when I opened my eyes, the first thing I saw was the priest holding the bread above his head, symbolizing Christ's body. I was thinking of how unhappy I had become because of something that happened in my life, but it was like God was saying, "It's okay. Just open your eyes and see what's in front of you. You still have God."

My dream

I was on a train, looking out the window. The train made a stop and I saw a bare tree that had no leaves. Then a few birds flew to the tree and sat on the branches where the leaves used to be. It was as if the birds were the leaves of the tree.

Then the train passed by a few small houses that were white, almost faded yellow. They had no color and someone told me silently, "The houses are not painted because the color comes from the windows; the world outside the window is its color."

I just found this dream to be so beautiful and philosophical. 

While babysitting...