Dot.

More dots.

So many dots that they look like stars.

Too many dots – infinite.

The nature of the infinite,

the fear – it haunts me.

As a child, my mother would take my art supplies away.

I would hurry to finish before she caught me,

but her abusive fists would catch me before I could escape.

The infinite amount of creativity teeming in my head, 

yet it cannot escape.

As a daughter, my mother would force me to spy on my father in his extramarital affairs.

I would look away as much as possible,

but the disturbing scene would entice me before I could escape.

The infinite obsession with sex ruining my own desires, 

yet it cannot escape.

As a citizen, my mother would send me to military factories to help with the war.

I would sew the parachutes as fast as I could,

but the never-ending stitches tied me down before I could escape.

The infinite darkness without hope looming over my mind, 

yet it cannot escape.

I must escape.

I must escape to someplace else.

I must escape to New York.

I vowed to make New York my world. 

And a world I made in New York:

an infinite amount of dots.

——

I let it out.

It escaped.

I escaped.

Written by Cato Jun

Edited by Rodlyn-Mae Banting