It feels foreign.

January 4, 2018













I can feel every fiber of my being. But it’s different. It feels foreign. My hands look different. It’s softer. More assertive in every punch into a key. It’s delicate and expressive like the leather on my favorite novel. My face tougher. Taking emotional punches to the chin. It formed calluses to take on the strongest and unexpected right hooks. But more often than not, it relinquishes my mind of any control and goes rogue (also known as resting bitch face). My heart more empty. It carries less weight. Paying a visit to all these homes, doors opening in front of it with the naivety of a 12 year old girl. But how nomadic my heart is, opening another door, closing, and leaving abruptly, it learned not to leave it’s toothbrush and say “I love you” to every host. And my mind heavy. Heavy in aspirations. In conviction. In pumping blood. I imagine the blood being fuchsia, perhaps. Or violet. There’s magic in my mind these days. It’s oozing out of every pore in my body, ready to paint the walls, the streets, the clouds around me.

From today on, my mind will lead my steps ahead. It’ll shine the way even when the pit feels dark and endless. I’ll trust it. It’s blinding with the deepest streaks of pinks and purple. And so if you’ve known me before today, I’m sorry but I am not the same. You’ll see familiarities in my mannerisms, my smile, even my words. But you see, the light illuminating from my chest, from my mind is different. And if you’re looking for me. You’ll be disappointed if you’re expecting the old me.


Images by Kim Geronimo & Lynn Kim Do
_____________________________


January 4, 2018
I can feel every fiber of my being. But it’s different. It feels foreign. My hands look different. It’s softer. More assertive in every punch into a key. It’s delicate and expressive like the leather on my favorite novel. My face tougher. Taking emotional punches to the chin. It formed calluses to take on the strongest and unexpected right hooks. But more often than not, it relinquishes my mind of any control and goes rogue (also known as resti…












I can feel every fiber of my being. But it’s different. It feels foreign. My hands look different. It’s softer. More assertive in every punch into a key. It’s delicate and expressive like the leather on my favorite novel. My face tougher. Taking emotional punches to the chin. It formed calluses to take on the strongest and unexpected right hooks. But more often than not, it relinquishes my mind of any control and goes rogue (also known as resting bitch face). My heart more empty. It carries less weight. Paying a visit to all these homes, doors opening in front of it with the naivety of a 12 year old girl. But how nomadic my heart is, opening another door, closing, and leaving abruptly, it learned not to leave it’s toothbrush and say “I love you” to every host. And my mind heavy. Heavy in aspirations. In conviction. In pumping blood. I imagine the blood being fuchsia, perhaps. Or violet. There’s magic in my mind these days. It’s oozing out of every pore in my body, ready to paint the walls, the streets, the clouds around me.

From today on, my mind will lead my steps ahead. It’ll shine the way even when the pit feels dark and endless. I’ll trust it. It’s blinding with the deepest streaks of pinks and purple. And so if you’ve known me before today, I’m sorry but I am not the same. You’ll see familiarities in my mannerisms, my smile, even my words. But you see, the light illuminating from my chest, from my mind is different. And if you’re looking for me. You’ll be disappointed if you’re expecting the old me.


Images by Kim Geronimo & Lynn Kim Do
_____________________________