I was 16 and didn’t know what the Hmong word for sex was. It happened when we were in the car, my mom and I, listening to the hmong radio. There was a popular song that had been going around: “Khuv Xim Tsis Tau Deev.” I had asked my mother what the word “deev” meant. The title was saying “I regret not having deev.” My mom answered with a non-answer “Deev is deev. That’s it.” Continue reading
*** When my sister told me about this conversation she had with our mother, I had to put it into a comic form. We collaborated on how the panels would go and I decided on using the Japanese 4koma style. Art was done by me via ms paint 🙂
Enjoy reading 🙂
A video comic (?) thingy I made to pair up with the song after hearing Lizz Robinett’s cover of “Ikanaide.”
Her mouth spouts lies; they exit as quick as the cotton candy that melts on her tongue. She was three when she learned to play pretend: pretend to be a princess, a queen, pretend that the world had fairies and one true prince charming. She was ten when she realized she can pretend in real life: pretend to be ok when her mom called her her chubby little angel, pretend that she wasn’t hurt when her friends laughed about the lice in her hair and instead, she laughed along with them. Continue reading
Did you know that 100 shoelaces come untied every second and it’s—
what? Don’t believe me? It’s true: 100 shoelaces come untied every second,
just like yours right now. What? You untied them yourself?
Now why would you do that? Retie them now and—
hey, you’re doing it wrong. Here, let me do it. You do it like this.
Untying your shoelaces yourself, what were you thinking?
It was a sunny day, a very sunny day. I wiped the back of my hand against my forehead, disgusted at the amount of sweat that gathered there. I sighed and wiped my hand against my shirt to dry it completely.
I knocked on the door of the Harrison’s house, waited, and then knocked again. It always took two knocks. The door was warm to the touch, reminding me yet again, that the Harrison’s AC was broken. I was told that the repairman would be coming tomorrow. Sighing, I straightened up again and plastered a smile on my face. I ran my right hand over it, making sure it was still in place as I waited for someone to open the door. I heard someone, I believe it was Mr. Harrison, shout something. What he said I couldn’t understand but it must’ve said to open the door because the door opened and there stood little Hannah.
Hannah stared at me, her own face beginning to smile as she let go of the door and flung herself at me. I hated it when she did that, but as her babysitter, I supposed it was in my line of duty to appease her so I did what I always did. I lifted her up and spun her around, once then twice. It was such tedious work but it was work nonetheless.
“And how are you today Hannah?” I asked as I settled her on my hip. She smiled at me, her arms grabbing at the short sleeves of my t-shirt and nodded her head in quick bursts. “That’s good.” I walked past the threshold of the door, shutting it closed with my foot, Hannah still on my hip.
The horror, the terror!
It will be the end of the world;
Volcanoes will erupt and gush fire to
char me like an inexperienced barbecuer;
Earth will quake and crack under me to
gobble me whole like a pelican;
Tsunamis will drown and choke me to
stealing my breath like a murderous thief!
“I want a baby,” Margaret says as she presses a can of beer to her lips. “A big eyed baby with golden blue eyes.” She tips her head back on her sofa. “Yes, big golden blue eyes.”
“But I don’t have golden blue eyes and neither do you,” her boyfriend responds as he downs another can of beer.
“They’d be pretty. Really pretty.”
“They’d be weird, Margie.”
Margaret laughs and shakes her head at him. “You’d agree if you’ve seen them. They were shimmering like gold.” She lifts her head back up and chugs the rest of her beer. “Shimmering like gold but blue. Like, like golden blue.”
“Yea, yea.” Her boyfriend opens another can. “And they’d be really ugly.”
She tips her head back against the sofa again. “Why can’t you understand how pretty they are? How pretty they would be? They’d be really pretty, really really pretty”
“They’d be the ugliest thing in the planet, that’s what they’ll be.”
“You don’t want a baby with pretty golden blue eyes?”
Her boyfriend stretches his legs in front of him and slouches down on her sofa. “But I don’t have golden blue eyes.” He throws his empty can of beer across the room and tips his head against the sofa like Margaret. He stares at the stained ceiling for a long time. “And you don’t have golden blue eyes either.”