my new desk
The first thing I did in my teenage bedroom, after unpacking my bags, was make it unrecognisable. I moved the bed, got rid of the dresser, laid rugs over the ugly carpet.
Today, I brought in the desk that once held the family computer. On it sits my laptop and a ceramic mug known around the house as the armless mug. In Amsterdam, Laura joked that she liked giving gifts that make people think of her. I do.
When the desk still belonged to my father, he kept a framed photo from his engagement day. My mother is younger than I am now in the photo. Next to it is a miniature wooden oud that I must have picked up in Cairo, engraved with ‘visit me once a year’. Fairuz looks off to the side.
There’s a notebook and a pen. WRITE DON’T TALK splayed across a glossy pink cover. V procured — stole, I think — the notebook, then realised she didn’t like dotted pages and passed it on to chee. Or perhaps it was procured. I think about them too.