what's special about an inch? it's a made up length
no one says "centimeter-ing"
it's "inch-ing"
centimeter is rigid, 1/100 of 1 meter
"why can't the U.S. adopt the metric system"
"it's terribly inefficient to keep using the inch"
but i guess we maintain our stupidly stubborn pride
by insisting on using an inch
a made-up length arbitrarily determined centuries back
by some too-privileged royal who happened to have
a pinky joint - or toe - the length of an i n c h
as an american, however,
i can't help but appreciate the meaning behind
"inching"
as in
we're inching our way towards different goals
we're going at our pace, at our length
the speed and distance we arbitrarily determine for the day, or
for
our lives
because we just have that kind of agency
over ourselves
if we 'centimeter-ed" towards our goals
what fun would that be?
1cm a day? Fixed distance to a fixed goal, onto
the next one,
and the next,
rather than inching across desert plains
of depression
going our speed, our distance, our pace, each day
doesn't matter, so
as long as we make progress towards
what we want
to do

bicultural but not totally bilingual
kids will understand
the sheer embarrassment of having to copy-paste
what your parents text you
in their native language
into Google Translate
detect language
yes, to English, because it's the only thing
I truly understand
because I don't actually really know
what Mom's saying at the end
Do I really get the weight of each word she crafts
lovingly into characters I've learned
but words I don't quite string together
or meanings I don't quite grasp
I swear I do it's just I don't understand one hundred percent and if I could just
g e t those last few phrases
sometimes the entire paragraph she sends me
rather than rely on a gray text editor that spits back
in solid, black, unfeeling English alphabet
"Coming home is always welcome"
that's not my Mom's voice, with her smiling, sympathetic expression and
steaming rice and kimchi stew, warm laundry, and squeaky slippers
that's the translator mincing her words,
chopping and scrambling them into something
familiar to the brain but foreign to the heart
I know she means "I'm always welcome to come home"
but why
couldn't I have gotten that immediately
"I eat food well and I have to buy spring clothes."
No, Google, I'm sure
she means that I will eat her food well
and buy spring clothes with her
but machine learning algorithms aren't
perfect
not my mom
so how would I really know
I wish language could be copy-pasted into English in my mind
so that I didn't have to go through this
bland, unwilling, frugal third-party
that knows nothing about my culture
I am a copy-paste of my parents' DNA
in flesh and blood
so why is it that physically
I am connected
but mentally, intangibly,
I've lost connection
to the internet, and some features of Google Translate may be lost. Try again?

i type my middle name cautiously
s
e
o
y
o
u
n
g
and watch resignedly as the red squiggle appears underneath
but with smug satisfaction
i right click
and hit
'add to dictionary'
hah, take that
i am now part of the lexicon
and you can't stop me

good morning america
it’s midnight, and I’m awake
which means it’s morning
and I’m ready to work
another 12 hours straight
without seeing a bit of sunlight
it’s a good day when there’s no day
in sight
I appreciate the dark more
no cicadas, no brash crowing, none
of that unfiltered nature, only
the cautious rustle of dead leaves
muffled boots on concrete
as I approach the next house
to say good morning.

Too familiar with the unhealthy coping mechanism of numbing emptiness with mindlessness
Your hands are too tired of the math review you’re desperately trying to finish.
You find yourself
Tapping through Snapchat stories, barely paying attention to
The group selfies, of bright, well-lit rooms decked with Christmas decorations
Of red ribbons and green pine and mistletoe
Of the white glints of friends’ toothy smiles
Sometimes the snaps would be videos
With deafening, muffled sounds of cheers, people’s faces recognizable
Even when turned away, laughing, looking at the star, the subject of the snap
All the cameras point to her face as she dances
It’s a party, and the late realization makes you feel dumb
I wasn’t invited. But why would I be?
I’m the asocial one, the one who always has to politely decline with
“Sorry, I have to do homework, have to do this, have to do that”
They’re IB kids. You’re in AP. What’s your excuse?
You think as you sit in front of your fluorescent LED screen
The phone’s luminosity searing through your eyes
But you can’t tear them away from the festive scene playing in front of you.
They’re having fun. It’s nighttime, 11:04, 5 seconds in, but
The environment in your house versus theirs
Seem 12 hours apart, night and day,
You squint, because wow, everyone is there. The close ones, the acquaintances,
That one guy you had to sit next to once in homeroom.
It’s almost Christmas.
You glance around your room.
No cat in sight, mother upstairs, conked out.
Your phone isn’t even alive. The snap has long been over. No vibrations of incoming texts.
You sigh.
Only a semester left.
And your fingers wearily
Pick up the pencil
And you resume
Alone.

how to write about love
when you've never experienced it before
when all you've ever known
is the heady, warm rush
from the bottom of your belly
to the crown of your head
as you hug her
the difference in heights
allowing the divot between her *******
to cradle your cheeks
you go up on your toes
to aim your lips
on the soft, rosy skin of her right cheek
looping your arms around her shoulders
her arms automatically encircling you
your lips smiling against her cheek

one day
you took aim with your lips once more
reaching for the pure, white expanse
but she, too, took aim with hers
looking for your own pale skin
and the timing couldn't have been more wrong
or right
as your lips crashed onto hers
for a single moment
time at a standstill
two different bodies
a pair of mouths making contact

she pulls back immediately
and you don't even register
your feet carrying you to safety
in the crowded cafeteria
its busyness somehow calming your anxious heart
as you spend the rest of Valentine's day alone

kisses aren't quite the same
aren't quite as relaxed
a layer of stiffness neither of us can
or want to uncover
her hugs aren’t tight
but her smile is
as she waves a half-hearted goodbye and turns
to aim her lips
on the bump of her boyfriend’s cheek

Comparing yourself
to others who, unlike you,
succeeded in their goals
is a feeling akin to the one you get
when you watch a bright multicolored parade speed away
its colors meshing together until it becomes
a large, shiny mass of obnoxiousness
the paraders clearly having fun, their screams of joy
slowly being drowned out by the roaring in your ears
the rise of water within yourself
filling the tub of depression
"I could have been in that parade", you whisper
as you miserably watch them leave you behind
*"I deserved to be in that parade--
but was i meant to be there?"