My friend has loaned me a book. The author is half-Filipino, just like my friend and me. I read it eagerly. It feels familiar. The author's writing style reminds me so much of my friend's, and I relish the glimpses of the suburban neighbourhoods we grew up in. I read…
Making bread on a cloudy morning, and the soreness in my forearms during kneading surprises me. How long has it been? I remember breakfast and quickly fry some leftover rice, garlic, crack an egg on top. I make the first cup of coffee after a long weekend of illness. CBC…
My dog and I run through the rain, down the street I grew up on. Our feet are the loudest sound. I'm carrying a bag full of crab shells to dispose of in the garbage can at the end of the road, by the community mailbox. A family sees me…
