Home: the going back, the getting there, the vivid memories of how food really tastes like dancing on the back of your tongue, lending flavour to whatever pale ghost of an imitation it is that you can get wherever you currently are.

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I’d been taking a break while I figured out how to structure a final project due quite soon. The mango kept distracting me, the flavours and the smells and the textures overwhelming me with memories until I had to pause for a moment, and write to let it out.

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Conversations About Hair

Hair, for me, is never just about my hair. My hair is a symbol: of a past life that I loved and lost, of emotional abuse by an authority figure, of being in a church where life was controlled in more ways than just spiritually.

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