Whistling sounded like a wail,

down the dale, a devout hymn.

When the wind was in the trees …

but the freeze has taken them.

Can a longing be undone?

Such a one as you would know.

Unrequited love is hard.

You imparted naught but woe.

So, my Dream, shall I construe,

dare unloose my full intent?

Nay, my passion hast full flown.

Thus, I moan. My clothing, rent.

You, forever loathe to share,

you ensnare the smallest look.

Exclude me, just like the cold,

when it froze over our brook.

isolation

libation

sedation

dilation

sensation

flirtation

temptation

intoxication

infatuation

fixation

consummation

acceleration

cultivation

exaltation...

...salvation

cohabitation

matriculation

circulation

regulation

expectation

vocation...

...expectation

explanation

misrepresentation

implication

accusation

justification

profanation

retaliation

indignation

escalation

victimization

causation

separation...

...probation...

vibration...

invitation

fraternization

gravitation

fornication

insinuation

reconciliation

declaration

demonstration

emancipation

jubilation...

...determination

idealization

suffocation

stagnation

frustration

polarization

extrication

summation...

...depravation

emasculation

debilitation

damnation

starvation

depreciation

isolation...

...recommendation

socialization

reorientation

stabilization

navigation

education

invigoration

meditation...

...internalization

illumination

humanization

appreciation

maturation

transformation.

Hip Hip Hooray,

Here comes the best story ever!

We all will meet, we all will write,

Once we get together!

Some are typing, some are writing,

but some of us are blocked

Twirling pencils in their hand,

trying to unlock the fog.

Some stories are so funny,

and some of them are not.

and some of them are scary,

we like all of them a lot!

We wake the city up

by sharing all the news

we even write the music

and that includes the blues!

Excerpt from my story, 'Wizards' Folly'.

Coralie halted in front of a red light at the crossing, unaware of the three unsavoury characters behind her. A tram rolled around the corner with a squeak. Such a hindrance they were to her—such an outdated method of transportation, restricted by two ridiculous metal slivers in the ground, which had caught her tyres more than once. Why couldn’t people just take the underground, or go by bus? That way cyclists like herself would not be bothered by these bulking behemoths, slowly running in their tracks, turning, twisting through the city like demented snakes. The twenty seconds it took to pass were endless in her mind. She couldn’t wait for her day to end, and if her phone didn’t ring by one in the afternoon, she’d consider it an end to the day indeed. She aimed to deliver on her own promise of bubbles and wine. Who cared if it would still be in the afternoon? That was the bliss of being an adult, was it not? To make one’s own decisions, stupid or not.

When the little green man in the traffic light replaced its red colleague, Coralie was off, shouting angrily at a taxi driver who had the audacity to cut her off. She braced herself for the tourist-laden Main Square, where pedestrians believed that walking on the bike lanes was their prerogative. What was the point, then, of having bike lanes in the first place? The city really ought to do something about that—after fixing the homeless situation.

With her mind unfavourably occupied, Coralie pedalled on, annoyed at constantly being slowed down—though she wasn’t going fast to begin with. Although her pace was inconvenient to her, it was very convenient for the three men behind her, as there was no need for them to run.

Main Square was packed, as expected around noon. It was surprising how dense a population would willingly squish itself into an otherwise large, open space. Coralie had grouped the mass into three categories, which she named the meat-munchers, pigeon-prowlers, and selfie-snappers. The meat-munchers were negligible to her; they mostly crowded around hotdog sellers or shawarma stalls and would peck away at their food sitting on far-off benches. Much more cumbersome were the city’s dirty, flying rats, which would peck away at scraps sown by the pigeon-prowlers. This created vast circles of spectators and feeders, intrigued by flocks of frantic feathers, which eagerly gobbled up such delicacies as greasy chips and cigarette butts.

But the worst of the lot were the selfie-snappers. Tourists and Starbucks-touring girls in their tweens,all desiring that perfect selfie with the old palace on the background. At least the pigeon-prowlers could be given a wide berth; the selfie-snappers, however, would backtrack swiftly and without warning, blinded by their own vanity, focusing on the world through a tiny LCD-lit screen. It forced any passer-by (particularly of the cycling variety) to a sudden, screeching halt.

Coralie groaned as she weaved left and right, dodging oblivious tourists, having to go well around the bike lanes. She glanced at some street artists posing as living statues, their acts continuously failing, either because of people’s meddling, or their own ineptitude. And, of course, before she could pass through the blur of people, another tram passed by to hinder her progress. It was a miracle it hadn’t rained yet on top of all things, although she supposed that would be the perfect end to the day.

So a thing that terrified me back when I was a young child, would definitely NOT terrify me today, or even as a teenager, but as a small child- I freaked out! My dad had taken us to a Go Cart and mini golf place one summer. It was a blast of course, but at some point I had to go use the restroom. I was about 6-7 years old maybe at the time and I went inside and went on in the bathroom. When I walked in I noticed that they had big long sinks on the wall and I had never seen those before. I thought they looked weird but kept on walking to the stall. I shut the stall and started to use the restroom and all of a sudden a grown man walks in and is peeing in the sink and I start freaking out and crying in the stall. He was probably like WTF - lol. I cried until he left and then once he was gone I hightailed it out of there and was embarrassed that I had went into the wrong restroom. I was so scared though- LOL!

I wander down the tree-lined dirt path

that eventually becomes a sidewalk,

sensing that stickiness of humidity so commonplace in Thailand.

It’s not long before I start to pass street vendors:

I notice an older man and woman, side by side at their food stall.

The few plastic chairs and modest outdoor tables set up

in front of them remain vacant.

Their Thai cuisine may be simple

but the recipes surely come from decades of perfecting:

a peanut-sprinkled papaya salad so wildly hot it instantly cleanses your nostrils,

Pad Kra Pao, a savory, basily minced pork dish with a fried egg and rice,

and colorful veggies from local farms the man deftly slices with a

sturdy cleaver in a whirlwind of chops; they will soon swirl in a sea of coconut milk, ginger, galangal, and shrimp paste.

The menus and signs for their shop are hand written and worn, but the food

they prepare is of highest quality.

They stand at attention in front of the woks and ingredients

swatting flies and wiping their brows, waiting for the next order to come.

Nearby, a woman with silvery hair pulled back in a bun stands

in a tiny stall, the size of a bedroom. Her shop is sardined with vibrant

dresses and skirts and shirts, many patterns of generations past

that reflect traditional culture, as well as a handful other

attire that mimics Western style. Our eyes meet fleetingly as I nod and I pass her by. She too waits for customers.

Across the street, brilliant, blinding lights shine,

flowing from the windows of a multi-story,

brand-new destination: the mall!

Folks from miles around have flocked here

Their motorbikes and cars and bikes jammed tightly into the surrounding lots.

These shoppers arrive with eager anticipation

to check out new fads and brands and to get the trendiest clothes and gear…hoping what they acquire will up their coolness factor.

The customers stroll inside, onto gleaming, snow-white tiled floors.

Glitzy, monstrous ads plaster every surface featuring

underfed, serious-faced European and American models in outrageous fashion and bold makeup entice buyers to be like them. Pop songs blare from speakers

pulsing in the hearers’ heads and bodies.

The potent smells from the food court bombard the senses:

take your pick of baked breads and pretzels

and donuts and coffee and boba and slushies and ice cream

and pizzas and burgers and fries and steaks and fried chicken…

Western brands that wow their customers

with such excessive volume of saltiness, grease, and sugar.

A flowing flurry of people stream up and down

the infinitely-moving escalator as it pushes its occupants up and down

to the next big sales.

These customers may have fond memory of local foods and vendors

but bright foreign novelties before them glitter and gleam

so much more glaringly and loudly...

I return outside to refreshing night air, the road clogged with

honking cars and motorbikes, many with plastic bags of new purchases

squeezed onto their arms and in their satchels.

As I make my journey home, I can't help but notice the local store owners once again. Tiny shop after shop, dimly lit: outdoor eating areas, small clothing and convenience stores. Though there are a handful of customers scattered about, the air feels thick and hushed.

An elderly woman in flimsy sandals strolls past me.

I’m drawn to admire her long, traditional sarong skirt of alternating golden diamonds amidst a midnight hue. We glance at one another, exchanging smiles.

She walks into the fading light. I few moments later, I look behind me;

she is already gone.

I wonder, will she and the vendors I have passed today's existence

grow dimmer amidst the flashy, seducing intrigue of Western brands

and chain restaurants and foreign fancies? Will outside companies eventually replace local peoples' businesses, foods, and generations of tradition?

Will the sense of community familiarity and connections

wane and fade as one by one, these shops close for good and are replaced by mass-produced commodities and manufactured convenience?

It’s hard to say for sure what the future holds.

I only hope that when people exit that massive mall

hopping onto their motorbikes and into their cars

they look out and remember the people in the shadows.

Photo by Egor Myznik

I was...nine. Well, it started when I was eight, but I was nine for most of the school year. An advanced student. The one they moved up early.

I was in a Montessori school, so we learned in three-year groupings. I had transferred in as a second-year elementary student, but given third-year work. The following year, the administrators advanced me to the upper elementary class as a fourth-year, and my teacher was giving me fifth-year work. So I was a third-grader in fourth doing fifth, and the girls in my class didn't like that.

It was worse because I was super social. I was friends with most of the school and basically all of the teachers and adults. The girls in my class, all of them at least a year or two older than I was, didn't like that either. I didn't understand at the time what it meant when my mom said they were scared of my 'charisma'. Looking back, they were just upset I was more popular than they were, and therefore did exactly what stereotypical preteen bully girls do: shunned me.

Led by the girl with the richest parents, hereafter referred to as the queen bee, I was completely closed out. None of the girls wanted to go against her; the one who tried, I was wary of as she was the queen bee's best friend. They wouldn't talk to me, wouldn't work with me unless they absolutely had to, wouldn't sit with me or even near me, wouldn't eat with me... as an elementary schooler, it was devastating.

I've never been what most people would call normal. I was homeschooled for two years before entering Montessori and never had any siblings, plus we moved too much for any long-term friendships. I have never really used social media unless Prose counts. I haven't had television service since I was six. My only big hobby was and still is reading. So to my classmates, I was weird. I didn't fit in. I was a threat to the queen bee's perfect little kingdom.

But because I'm a stubborn twit who was determined to be herself (at least somewhat) and also because I didn't really understand the situation, I didn't even try to fix it. I was friendly, but that made it worse, so I said f*** it (or rather, the fourth-grade equivalent). I carried books to school, did every assignment that could be completed solo. I was fine, academically, and I wasn't bored, but I was lonely. That was the first time I discovered that it's possible to be lonely in a room full of people.

It worsened over time. The boys couldn't have cared less about the girls' war; they talked and joked and worked with me just fine, but they were preteens and immature and got awkward at random moments, and I was nine and didn't understand why. They were also obsessed with video games, most of which I had never heard of. (Even years later, I would really appreciate it if I never have to hear the word 'Minecraft' again.) My crush was being shunned by the boys and I was being shunned by the girls, and I was too scared to stand up for him or myself. As it turns out, for as much as I was a headstrong child, I didn't really like conflict then either.

Slowly, I retreated. I began to avoid the tables where people formed groups, choosing to find a stool and a corner where people would leave me alone. I would eat at the table that only held two people, with no hope that anyone would join me. I became a ghost-like presence, the phantom that just happened to be taking up that seat. My teachers either couldn't act or didn't. My parents fought about whether or not to pull me out, and decided to have me finish the year.

Bad decision.

I ended the year with almost no self-confidence, but a greater sense of self-reliance and knowledge that I could, in fact, complete assignments perfectly well with no assistance. Ironically, I was also more attached to my few friends than I had ever been before. I became clingy and prickly simultaneously in a strange duality.

These days, I'm only the headstrong, social person I was as a child when I'm with only my family or closest friends. I've regained some of my confidence, but now it comes in the form of 'I don't give a s***' and ignoring people entirely. I've not come out of ghost form, really. I just function better within it. (To use video game terms I've since learned, I kept the skill and outgrew the debuff.)

I don't know if I actually answered the prompt, since I can't really consider that a maturity shift or a sudden growing-up moment, but that's the biggest shift I've had.