The clock doesn't stop beating.

A note from one of the girls in our culinary vocational program.

While her heart won't stop ticking, despite having felt it kicked, dropped, and pulled. It doesn't stop. And while the dog outside continues to sniff the ground as if there may be something hidden underneath the flat hard concrete, she glances out her window to see if the palm trees want to say something. They don't. They just want to sway. The room she sits in is undecorated. Sprinkled with crayon stains from forgotten memories and furniture that is too big for the space given, the room longs for a time when his walls used to be blue and furniture few. 


Now his walls were white. Achingly white. Not even a pretty kitshe painting to cover his bare walls. He longed for an affected Mona Lisa or  Monet.  Heck what about a picasso, a khalo, a pretentious warhol, a damn mysterious white flower among blue ones, a starry fucking night,  I don't care. Just cover me, please.


She thought she heard something. The dog was still sniffing, but still could not find what he wanted. 
The palm trees now stopped swaying. A car drives by. And because the rigid frames of the neighboring houses seemed to be at odds with the wild weeds that kept invading perfectly kept lawns, she decided to turn on the television instead, drowning out the sounds of the hours and minutes and seconds that seem to mindlessly beat towards some forgotten time.


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Lately, I've been day dreaming about southern California. My workload for some reason has increased tremendously and I find myself in the office past 9:00 pm almost every night. All for the cause of preventing human trafficking in Vietnam. Since I'm a volunteer, I essentially work for free. I am also very excited for my move back. I know it's going to be really boring and may be tough in the beginning. My little ol' 20 something year old car doesn't work anymore (I checked when I came back) and I will have to find a way to transport myself to places.

I am now content with anything that is in front of me. This is a very "releasing" feeling. Uplifting, amazing, happy type of feeling for me.  This doesn't mean that I don't get sad. Also, I'm going to try to get a job where my aunt works, a Mental Health clinic that is spread throughout southern California. This will help me explore whether that type of direct clinical work is something I want to do. I think I will learn A LOT from it.