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Crossing Cultures Memoir

Names

Specific names. Or initials. Scribbled in ink. Indelible. On lined paper in plastic-bound journals bought at the local bazaar.

Thirty years later I’m reading the pages. Details about our encounters with them. 

Conversations. Situations.

Prayer requests recorded. Hospitalizations. Heartaches. Crises. Losses. Spiritual confusion.

Names scribbled in ink.
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Memoir Uncategorized

Keep writing

Picking up a pen. And opening my notebook to a fresh page. I keep writing.

Remembering times I’ve jotted down thoughts in Southeast Asia’s tropical humidity. Hands sticking to the paper. Ink smudging along the way.

Or cities on the subcontinent where I’ve huddled in a blanket. At my desk. On mornings when tile floors and no heat mean cold seeps into the bones.

Regardless, I keep writing.

Keep writing. Image by Julia Joplin on Unsplash.