The first time I took a plane, I was in my mother’s womb.
Almost certain it was the joy tearing through her veins that taught me how to laugh.
We were homeward bound.
Off to a land where my mother’s tongue can be found though it still remains a hidden treasure to me –
Malaysia; humid, monsoon, food, laughter.
My earliest memories are barefoot running through the old bungalow – either chasing my sister and cousin
or lighting candles and rushing to close windows during monsoon season so the rain didn’t get in.
We had a dog called Benji.
He had gums like charcoal and frothed at the mouth a little, but he was beautiful.
We used to race with him from the back door to the front door, him running outside the house and us through it.
He always won, and waited for us at the gated door, panting
and watching us with eyes full of gorgeous.
Seems like we did a lot of running.
I’d run there now if I could.