Twenty-two years ago, I left without saying goodbye. I don’t remember her face anymore, only the possibility that her name was Charmaine and the circle we drew in the dirt to play diketo. This is the story of a childhood friendship that never got an ending, and the first room I unknowingly left unfinished.
Tag: #memory
The House Was Never Finished
I grew up in a house that was never finished; rooms half-built, things installed before they could be fully used. It took me years to realise that the way we lived in that house mirrors the way my mind works. This is what ADHD feels like for me: not broken, not lazy, just built differently.
Halfway Home
There are three rooms in this building.Three small boxes stacked side by side, each one breathing in its own way. The room on the left is loud.Sometimes it’s laughter, sometimes it’s shouting — but it’s always full of sound. The woman there has a voice … Continue reading Halfway Home
The Hand That Found Mine
Sometimes I wonder when my mother started grabbing my hand every time we crossed the road. I don’t know if she always did it, or if it began after the accident. But when I think about it now, it feels like one of the earliest … Continue reading The Hand That Found Mine
Still Living In That House
Writer’s Note This piece is part memory, part feeling, and part search. It is not a linear story. It moves like memory does; fragmented, circular, sometimes clear and sometimes smudged. I wrote this not because I have answers but because I needed space for the … Continue reading Still Living In That House
Unfinished Rooms 