The Astonishing Color of After

by Emily X.R. Pan

“We’re not lost,” Axel said finally. “We’re just headed somewhere different.”

There’s still a mother-shaped hole inside me. It’ll always be there. But maybe it doesn’t have to be a deep, dark pit, waiting for me to trip and fall. Maybe it can be a vessel. Something to hold memories and colors, and to hold space for Dad and Waipo and Waigong. And Feng, even though she’s gone.

Memories that tell a story, if you look hard enough. Because the purpose of memory, I would argue, is to remind us how to live.