That Sunday coming back from Karate. Suddenly there was a small little temple in the basement. Saturday morning prayers. How I stood there reciting things I didn't fully understand or get. Until eighth grade I did this. This thing I did mainly for my parents. Slowly, I started to go halfway in or not at all. I stopped going all together. The holidays and some ideas I get, but not all.

It's the practices, beliefs, and ideas from others that unhinged my mind. Since elementary school, there were days devoted to ethnicities from around the world. The research of our cultures in english and social studies classes. It was seeing the world from the perspective friends and peers.

It's the finding of you're own beliefs and being able to use them that sets you free. The simpler the rules the more content a person tends to be. They should open you to the world, not cage you in to yourself.

Sick or sushi?

"What's the rate of change for this equation?"

How the heck should you know, she just wrote it. Your stomach growls from skipping breakfast. You stare blankly at the smart board, feigning interest.

"What does the derivative tell us about the function?"

Day after day. Number punching, number punching, answer. That's it. Can't wait for Thursday. Hopping a train to Port Jeff. to see your sister. Match day, one of the most important days for her this year. She's vented to you about it so much, you feel like it's yours to. Going to have lunch with her.

You can miss the endless notes, lectures, tests, quizzes. The mind numbing routine. It's silent on the LIRR. The hum of the wheels scraping on the track barely noticeable. You sit back, reading, music playing in one of your ears. You look around, giving stories to faces. The guy in a business suit trying to look as sophisticated as can be or the pretty twenty something with red, puffed eyes who gives you a smile. You sit there, knowing that as you celebrate with your sister, someone else is dealing with their bad news.

Lunch at a simple sushi place. It's fun, sitting there with your orders of sushi and saki, reveling in the good news. The familiar pit starts to grow in your stomach and not from the food. Knowing that it is all to end far too soon. Knowing it's back to the same routine the next day. The unyeilding pen pushing.

And back on the train you go. Back to the scraping of metal. Back to sitting around. Back to trying to stay occupied. Back to staring. Staring at them. Them and their problems.

Where is home?

Broken down books

supple skin sliding

old wine to follow

gourmet grub

contained

in centuries past

Love, family

threads of childhood

routine, admiration

regret of secrets





Based on the book The Namesake