Our teachers forgot to mention that by throwing our tassels in the air, we throw every shit anyone can ever give about us. The world says it cares, but it goes ahead and does something different. I wish we weren’t cared for later than we’re supposed to be cared for. It's like: 'You graduated college. There’s no way you have any trace of still being a scared child. Oh, you fucked up? Here’s a jail cell.

The face Isaac made when bonding with his aluminum toy would have made you smile. The innocence of it. It was one of those mind-lending activities that make us like people—like spying on someone playing the piano or solving a puzzle. Every person looks like a child when de-seeding a pomegranate. If you watch someone open a juice box, however old, you’ll see them young again—their soft, wondering face. It’s one of the most ephemeral beauties for the eyes to partake in.

The classroom is a special place. It’s one of the few times a group of different people have to be in the same room. Outside, it’s only strangers in subway rides for a few minutes. It’s rare. We never really know people again.

The classroom is so rare. It’s one of the few times a group of different people have to be in the same room. Outside, it’s only strangers in subway rides for a few minutes. Or waiting in line for food or being in some doctor’s office. When I take the bus, everyone’s so tense. They don’t talk to each other. But to come in a room Monday to Friday, to know which people are shy, who volunteers to read, who cheats, and to laugh... There’s rarely a congregation like that.

We discard the elderly, but the elderly used to discard the elderly. Those old people we tease are just listening to our insults and not deciding to speak. They’re not stupid. They just understand. Old people are young people who’ve had a few more heartbreaks, thousands of more workdays, and who’ve prepared a dozen more eulogies.

Beat him until he softens. Lift his ragged body and raise him with your whiskey breath. Get him out alive. Watch from your grave as he beats his own child, because you beat him, because yours beat you, because his beat his, because his beat his...

After we graduate, our identities just become nervousness and worrying all the time.

Least thing we can do is to wake up in the morning and protect the good things that were. The past deserves it.

We think they’re better than us, the white-haired folks we call grandma and grandpa. But being old doesn’t mean you’ve adjusted to the loneliness. They are saddened, desiring, passionate folks who want adventure.