I want to write like a female, but it is impossible. I don’t want to write about
myself, about what nourishes me or my experiences. I want to be a character, a
different voice. I paint my toenails hot pink, which was my favourite color
when I was eight years old. There is a splash of it on my hand, a long drizzle
right along my thumb. No one will notice this, except for Chui. She will notice
it immediately. Sometimes I feel like I have two daughters because I have so
much male energy. It needs to balance out. Hector also has a lot of male energy, obviously. He is a very
male man. My favorite writer, Martin Amis, has said that his overarching subject
is “masculinity”. I want to write about the green grey hills and the sea I can
hear in the distance. But there’s no time. There are birds circling overhead,
and stupid flies are plonking against the window. The baby will wake up any minute.
Now.
Now.
