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.
—–
Dot.
More dots.
So many dots that they look like stars.
Yes, there are many – infinite.
The nature of the infinite goes on for forever,
meaning the fear can no longer reach me.
——
I let it out.
It escaped.
I escaped.
(@sthao.art)
Written by Cato Jun
Edited by Rodlyn-Mae Banting
