Though it was you who did everything at home for us, it was Papa who we looked up to, as if he personally made the stars and the moon glow bright. Your love was stable, which made it expected and ordinary. Papa’s love was mysterious, like the weather patterns during the rainy season in the tropics. Sometimes his affection beamed over me like a hot sun, and other times I was caught in a torrential downpour, unsure if I’d ever see sunlight again. It was a love that felt exciting and curious, a love that we had to jockey and perform for—a love that we could not afford to take for granted, as we
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