Youth

Youth

The conceit is this: The book is Min’s catalogue of the objects she has salvaged from a short, but no less emotionally expansive, relationship with Ed. Every trinket has a story, and as Min weaves the story of their young love, so does she show us—and Ed, especially Ed—how it faltered. Her narration is vulnerable, in the way some of us become more tender when hurting. It is defiant. It forms a spectrum of boundless exuberance, invincibility, and goddamned self-deprecating chants of Oh, why did I love you?—and this voice, the teetering between one wild emotion and the next, the small pockets of quietness that allow for a greater strength to grow—this is Min’s voice. This, I suppose, was my voice years ago, as it was the voice of many of us when we first loved, when we first hurt, and, later, when we wished to tell those who’ve hurt us—This is what you do to me now, but you I rid you the power of doing it to me ever again. [Continue reading.]