Kiana

I am relocated to a new corner of the house now, a new room for me to paint whatever teenage angst there is left of me. In the first days of sleeping there, I noticed faint traces of strange scents, probably dried-up cement or a leprechaun under my bed? And then, two days ago, I came down with a cold. But, in the quiet halo I spend lying on my bed most afternoons when class is still three hours away, I come back to that space and yearn to get a hold of the dappled sun dancing across the sheets and onto my face.

Good news from the front: As I was rummaging through two boxes and a trash bag repurposed to store books, I found a copy of The Secret Diary of Laura Palmer. I remembered unearthing this book from a box left behind by a guest in our house when I was in third grade, and reading it secretly when no one was watching, either because I was too young to understand the mildly erotic scene on page 37, or because I liked the thrill of having something secret to myself, and to myself alone. This spurred me on to writing diaries, even asking an aunt to get me a nice notebook with a lock on it for Christmas. Glad to remember this li’l history of my li’l life. Thank you to Jennifer and David Lynch, and to Laura Palmer, I guess?

Ooh, I almost forgot! Coldplay is coming to my country the summer of next year. I was so excited, I’ve been saving up for ticket and airfare for MONTHS. Then, the event promoters declared the tickets sold-out while I was still in the friggin line to get one! What do I even make of this? What’s a girl gotta do to see a bunch of guys who have created music that saved her a whole lot of times? Cry, I guess. ♦