My House and Memories

What was once a beautiful but small lawn with grass is now a patch of dead grass with dirt exposing itself under the grass. What was once the creaky barn doors are completely destroyed, with broken glass on the ground on the outside, leading to the inside. What was once the living room where I had spent so much time watching television and playing games with my siblings, now has its carpet completely torn up, walls indented, and closet in complete shambles with light gleaming sharply through the holes of the closet from holes that were made by vandals who never knew the true value of the humble abode that I used to reside in. My old home, since being lived in by me and my family has since been abandoned by the family that we had entrusted the house to previously. Now the house just stays there, an eerie empty shell of what it used to be. A place where I was safe and happy, now a dark and scary place that no one deserves to live in, a place that humans have indeed used well, so well that there is nothing left of what it used to be. That image of the house was the last I saw it, back in 2010, It is possible now that the house had since been destroyed, with the memories that have been carved into the walls, fireplace, windows, closets, and bedrooms, are now nothing more but a blur of destroyed objects that will one day be removed, as people pass by the home that once was will never be able to see its clarity, but instead will only be able to see the blur of colors protruding from the exterior of the house, or perhaps the brown of the barn like doors, or the patches of green still rising from the dead grass that surrounds it, until eventually, it simply disappears completely invisible to the city that used it ever so

“A girl was standing there looking in. She had full, rouged lips and wide spaced eyes, heavily made up. Her fingernails were red. Her hair hung in little rolled clusters, like sausages. She wore a cotton house dress and red mules, on the insteps of which were little red ostrich feathers.

A groan- that you could only imagine a Bear making- came from my throat as I stretched my stiff muscles, wiping absentmindedly at my face. Something cold and wet spread across my hand and I looked down, slightly relieved at not seeing blood. I drew the jacket aside and cringed at the drool that had pooled on the book's

Sweat was pouring down my forehead. My palms were sticky. They were slowly creeping closer. I had to think quickly!

l know not how it was – but, with the first glimpse of that building, a spirit … I looked upon the mere house, and the simple land scape features of the domain – upon the bleak walls – upon the vacant eye – like windows – upon a few ranks edges – and upon a few white of decayed trees with an a utter depression of soul.

“Well, hello to you, too. No need to thank me for giving up my precious sleep waiting for you to come out of Recovery; it was my pleasure.” I thought she looked remarkably good considering everything she’d been through.

My parents moved in here before I was born, this house was all I ever knew, and yet it felt like I knew nothing about it. I had always known that it was there, it was always in the back of my mind. My parents said it was there when they bought the place, they said it gave the house “character”, that it didn't open anyways. It was this detail that made me so curious about it.

As Cora stepped off the elevator, the echo of her pointy heels ceased as they were absorbed by the thick floor. The halls of the hotel were heavily dated with lush green and tan patterned carpet, low dingy ceilings, and thick floral wallpaper. She turned the corner of the long, narrow hallway and laid eyes on the room. All of the doors in the hotel were the same shade of glossy tan with a silver hey reader above the handle except 23B. This room seemed to be untouched for years, the door was made of rotted splintering wood with 23B painted on the front in red paint.

On a rainy afternoon, A man is sitting at a diner. He’s well dressed, wearing a blue button-down shirt and grey pants with suspenders. His face is looking down at the table with a zoned out expression, his hands are clasped together as he fiddles with his thumbs nervously. He looks up and observes his surrounding. The diner was decorated in vibrant colours of red, blue and yellow, however, the lighting and the cloudy weather made the diner look sterile. He hears the entrance door behind him open. He anxiously turns around to see who it is, a girl -in her late twenties, early thirties- enters through the door, the rain had drenched her, her blue dress stuck wet on her statuesque body and her brown hair hung soaking and untidy. The water from

There is a place that is a constant reminder of my childhood. This place is my room. Though it has changed since I was born it still reminds me of the time I spent there as a kid.

Throughout this paper I will be writing about my life, starting from my very first memory and ending with my life as it is now. Since I was brought into this world I had an older sister who is two and a half years older than I am. My parents said right away that my sister was so excited to have me in her life that she did not care that she was no longer the center of my parent’s attention. She acted as if I was her baby. When I was just starting out, as a toddler was the time that I started to develop my first memories, which are not all good. Lets start from the beginning, my first memory that I have of myself would be from when I was almost two years old. In this memory I was attending my papas funeral. I remember that there was the colour red everywhere, all over the walls and even on the seats. It was his favourite colour according to what my parents tell me. From this memory I also remember my parents walking me up to him during his wake and allowing my older sister and I to put a photo of us into his shirt pocket so we would always be with him. After this memory, my next one occurs when I am around the age of two as well. I remember being in my families first home sitting in our kitchen with my mom, on her lap wrapped in my little mermaid blanket, drinking a little bit of tea with her while we watched my older sister catch the bus to go to school. This is still one of my favourite memories because I truly fell that this helped shaped the person I am today. I also

Where would one go if they could visit any location they desired? Would it be a tropical resort, a foreign country? If I could visit any location in the world I would be at home because I could sleep and relax if I wanted. Home is where the heart is and my hearts guiding me to my physical house, which isn't necessarily a bad thing as theres nothing wrong with spending time with family. My house is located in a more rural area so because of this my 5 senses are constantly being used.

Thùy Nguyen and I first met at my home in Austin, Texas. Thùy came to visit her close friend - my first wife Dao Tran. This was during Thùy’s second U.S. visit; Oct. 27, 2012 to Mar. 4, 2013. At that time, Thùy’s English was minimal and I knew details of her through my wife Dao. Thùy visited frequently and helped Dao – who had terminal cancer. Dao was physically weak, but brutally honest and mentally sharp in a “matter of fact” way. Once Dao asked me, “What are you going to do about women after I’m gone?” I said, “Don’t worry about that!” She continued with the subject, “You’re young and going to need a woman and that is ok.” I tried to dismiss her again with a joke. Dao bluntly said, “Thùy is a great woman. She helps others, never has had a boyfriend and is very good.” She continued very sincerely, “I wish Thùy would accept you! I would bow at her feet if she would accept you!” I let Dao finish her wish but didn 't think more about the matter.

My older sister Mandy met her husband Gabe when she was 14 years old. By the time Mandy was 21, she was married with two children and lived a comfortable life. In 2010, Gabe was injured at his job and was no longer able to work. Gabe tried to find odd jobs around the neighborhood to help supplement his disability income, but in the meantime his relationship with Mandy was falling apart. In 2014, Mandy and Gabe decided to put their house up for sale, and move into a new home. Mandy and Gabe looked for a new home, but could not agree on one that they could afford or one that they both liked. Within 4 months, their house sold and Mandy and her two children (18 and 16) moved in with our mother and Gabe moved to Philadelphia alone. Little did they know that would be the last time that they would see Gabe.

The same pictures have lined the hallway of my childhood home for as long as I can remember. There is the heavily contrasted photograph of my grandparents, my mother, her two brothers and baby sister in front of St. John’s Catholic Church in Many, Louisiana. My grandmother is wearing a burnt orange dress which screams 1970 something and my mother, about thirteen in the photo, is wearing a lime green box-like dress with her straight as a board hair parted down the middle in direct contrast to the curly black mass atop my grandmother’s head. The next picture is my mother at sixteen. This one is a headshot of the same deathly straight dark hair and that perfect middle part. When I was eight, I asked my mother why her hair was so straight while Grandma Rita’s and Aunt Janie’s had always been so curly. “I have straightened my hair since I was thirteen,” she said. She then went on to tell me how growing up, she had been given so many perms that she had developed an aversion to eating eggs, as the smell of the perm mixture was oddly similar to that of rotten eggs.