“Chasing the Echoes of Home: A Journey Through Memory and Migration”
She fumbled with her key and pushed the apartment door back open. I followed close behind. The air in the apartment was thick with the oily smell of the ground beef and onions her mum had fried for our supper. It clung to the shadowy corners like bats to a cave.
I stood in the entryway, unsure what to do. In my family’s apartment, we had candles and matches on every tabletop. I wished I’d thought of grabbing a flashlight when I’d packed my overnight bag that morning before school. The panicky feeling from the hallway and stairwell wouldn’t let me go. I felt as if a bully had stepped on my only pair of glasses, leaving me nearly blind and vulnerable.
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