Appearance: prose

October 3, 2014

By CATALINA FERNANDEZ
Staff Writer

_MG_1480[1] — (Michelle Kumata/The Seattle Times/MCT)

She stands near a doorway. Her hands are clasped. Her feet, turned out. Everything she does seems to portray her fragile emotional state. Her head moves down, her eyes closed. To an observer, she appears hopeless, helpless, and careless. She stands still for a while, pondering. She thinks to herself, “Who am I?” She does not know. No one really does.
She stands. She waits. She stands.
She has been standing there for a while now. Except, she is not hopeless, helpless, or careless. Her hands, clasped together, are a symbol of her patient poise. Her feet, turned out, are a distraction, a break from her otherwise well-structured routine. Her head down, her eyes closed, as she contemplates her aspirations. She thinks to herself, “I know who I am.” She knows. It is all that matters.
She stands. She progresses. She achieves.

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