witty-remark's Diaryland Diary

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I feel so far from my immediate family. Think headlights in a tunnel coming towards you. Now rewind it. The glimmer becoming fainter and fainter.

This is my mother. This shelf full of relics sent back from business trips. The snow globes, the teddy bears, the empty picture frames; all collecting dust. The post cards with brief helloís and rushed goodbyes.

This is my father. Birthday cards with belated wishes. Un-replied emails with pictures of buildings in downtown Toronto. A pawn shop necklace.

This would be my brother. This room with the metal filing cabinet; graffiti scrawled on all 4 sides in permanent marker. Dime bags hidden in every nook and cranny. A metal pipe resting atop a political book.

This is me to my mother: a fuzzy voice on the other end of the line. Think candy wrappers rubbed between your fingers beside your ears.

This is me to my father: an occasional reminder that something outside of yourself exists.

This is me to my brother: a nostalgic memory thatís fading out of sight. Think Saturday morning cartoons intercepted by poor reception; the roar of static and blizzard of monochromatic dots.

I donít know what I am to myself.

(and if you're curious, that's an ACTUAL untouched photo of my family, documented compliments of my dad. It's beautifully appropriate that he's missing from the picture.)

8:42 p.m. - Sunday, Dec. 14, 2008

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