At night, I sit on the windowsill and wonder

how Earth rotates and shows us stars.

At night, I lie awake to realise,

I’m not the sun, a moon or Jupiter

as I can barely turn on my tippy toes and shine.

I don’t pop pills with ballerinas and I

don’t lie face down crying about the cold breeze.

At night, I sometimes wander around the bus station,

denying local fishermen’s cigarette offers.

But when I smell cigarettes clouding the air

so tight I feel a sort of love, it’s not really night

at my house.

At night, people go to the beach 5 minutes down the road

and eat $2 popsicles, and it’s warm.

But really, all I think about when I think of home

Is that at night I’ll go to bed and lie awake,

thankful that I’m there.

And home isn’t sunny or cheerful.

It’s far from that. Seventeen thousand km to be precise.

But at night, the saddened city I’m proud to call home

holds my head as I rest once again.

Writer – Maria Secara
Editor – Aaron Huang
Artist – Amelia Hu

–September 2024–