“AToiLHH by: NMBD LHNOA”
Philadelphia is the first new place I have lived in my adult life, and
it is a long way away from home. Excitement surrounds my new
adventure, but it is also accompanied by the pressures of adult-ing
and making sense of the world.
After getting buried under piles of decisions, I got overwhelmed and decided to take a walk. About half an hour in, I stumbled across a book of sorts, handwriting on white pages, intentionally cut and bound by staples. It was the handwriting of a child, the letters legible, the words not so clear. I pictured the author in the act of writing. I imagined all of the possible meanings of the text and wondered why this book was created. I got lost in thought, totally invested in something I did not quite understand.
It was raining, but I could still see the sun setting behind the
clouds. I’d been carrying around a wrinkled, wet book for almost an hour now. I brought it home with me and dried it out. Until now, it sat on my desk as a reminder to get out and breathe once in a while, to invest myself in the unknown, and like this book, to exist on my own terms without explanation.