I just closed my eyes and kept telling myself, “It’ll grow back” repeatedly. The sound of those scissors was like the sound of a very painful song coming from your alarm at 5 am.
My phone is ringing, this is the second call from you. I’m staring at my phone juggling between decisions. Should I pick up and speak to you, or text you minutes later after I delete your voicemail telling you I was busy.
I remember standing across the street of my house as one of my best friends told me she could no longer hang out with me.
You become tired of being the human translator for your parents and want them to understand English the way Jamie’s parents do. And sometimes you don’t want daal and roti for dinner; you just want mac and cheese.