Deep beneath the lakes of New England dwells Nimueh, the hidden goddess of the waters. Her form shifts with the currents, hair entwined with reeds, eyes glinting like submerged stones. She whispers to the fish and glides among the roots, healing what men pollute. When oil slicks the surface or trash sinks below, her wrath rises in silent waves. Legends say those who respect the lakes may catch her reflection at dusk, a reminder that the waters are watched—and protected.
I always adore noticing the absurdity, surrealism in the everyday, as if reality lifts the edge of its curtain for me, and through this gap, I see the backstage of the scenery. Recognizing the surreal edge in the everyday churn of events keeps me from sinking into melodrama over the losses and upheavals that my family, my homeland, and I are forced to endure. Equally, I always observe with admiration the unusual facets in people around me. And it crushes me to see people with extraordinary appearances subjected to bullying, hatred, threats, and mockery.
