The Ride

January 23, 2014
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My nails are all hideously bitten. I cannot ever get rid of this bad habit of mine. I can't find the right words to say, it isn't easy for a girl with a tongue tied up and a mind battling itself. This bumpy ride feels so much like the road trip I took from Haikou to Sanya. It is as if I am taking a ride back home, to all that I had ever had back then when I was still a little girl sleeping on daddy's chest, listening to the tunes playing on the radio.

My childhood is all that you can ever think of - like every part you've seen on a Disney movie. It had been my uncle driving and my aunt sitting right next to him, humming along to the songs, as if she had known the lyrics better than she knew uncle. Every Summer, my family would go back to Hainan for vacation with uncle and his family for almost a month. Every Summer, it was like my escape from the reality finally to somewhere called home. Everything was perfect and nothing hurt.

Last year, things were different. It was pretty ugly and everything got out of hand. First it was when Grandma passed away, then it was when my uncle divorced my aunt. It didn't really seem much like how it had been anymore. The last road trip we were on was our ride to Granny's funeral. I didn't remember much about the songs that were played on the radio, though, because they were sobs that everyone hummed along. I was looking out the window and my cousin leaned in to ask me what I was looking at. Well, to be honest, I wasn't sure either, I guess it was grievance I was looking at. I'm not much of a crying person, it wouldn't bring her back anyway. I turned to look at my cousin and fought to say a word but with my tongue tied, I didn't make a slight sound. She would have understood.

Somewhere along memory lane, I find myself back again on a bumpy ride that feels just like the one back in Hainan. I can taste the bittersweet nostalgia on my tongue. I look out the window and if I were to be asked what I was looking at, I swear to God, I'd tell you that it was home. I had been a homeless bound for a year and Jesus Christ, I swear I am home again. The tip of my thumb touches the nail on my index finger - as perfect as I have always wanted it to be: bitten and torn. I can tell myself that I am home again as I rest my head on your chest, listening to the tunes playing softly in the background. I look at your fingers tightly interlocking mine and for the love of God, I swear again that I am home because when I look at you, my heart caves in, my tongue is tied up and there aren't any words for what more I can ask for.

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