the cicada cycle

i find myself sitting on the edge of the footpath building up the courage to try caramel popcorn for the first time, i never really enjoyed caramel but little eight year-old me couldn’t turn down such an offer from a potential friend. i’m met with a  sweet softness as i sink my teeth into the kernel, if i could, i'd spit it out onto the  grass behind me, instead i pull the corners of my mouth into a smile and swallow it  down. if we meet with each other again, would they tell me they saw through my  façade back then? would they remember the caramel popcorn? do they even  remember me? 

i step foot into the movie theatre where, years ago, my best friend had their birthday  party. i can’t remember what movie we watched or who i sat next to, i don’t think  they would either. i’ve always enjoyed cinema popcorn though, each bite a salty  goodness leaving a metallic taste on my lips; savoured like a guilty pleasure. during  this birthday out we went around the mall, visiting places like build-a-bear and  smiggle, which was a dream for a ten-year-old like me. the last photos were taken so  we said our goodbyes, and i was either dropped home or picked up (probably  dropped home). i flick through the pictures from that day and notice how three other  people wore denim jackets just like me, yet in every photograph i’m the only one who  looks out of place. 

i wander into a bustling arcade one tuesday afternoon, it’s somehow dark but bright  at the same time. i never quite understood how time flows in a place like this. my ears  flood with the sound of screaming children and grumpy adults who’ve failed the claw  machine for the third time in a row. luckily the photo booth is in the furthest corner,  far away from the arcades raucous. i gently open the curtain and climb through to the  left side of the booth, making sure there’s enough space for them to sit after me. my  card swipes with however much money i have left, and i panic as the timer counts  down. with each click of the camera were unplanned poses with giggles in between, it  felt like the world stopped just for us. we stayed in the booth for a little longer while  the machine printed our photos out, just to take in the moment before leaving our  own little bubble. years later i stumble across the video taken from the photobooth,  hearing our bouts of laughter and seeing the smiles that filled the room. all i can  think about now is how much we’ve grown, and how that version of me is doing when  he gets home. 

i’m standing outside a garbage filled driveway with three bags in hand, i lug them in and slump onto a bed that isn’t quite mine. even the ants watch with pity, or maybe  they’re just hungry. my books are placed carefully along with my other belongings in  hopes to make this room a home. i sit and try to read but the words are jumbled so i  

watch the minutes pass on my phone, it’s almost dinner. i leave the safety of the  room to walk the streets of an early november, watching the christmas lights mock 

me with each step i take. tonight’s dinner is honey chicken filled with the warmth of  familiarity, i swallow it down like it’s the last meal i’ll ever have.  

just like a cicada, i’ll shed my past, and look back on all the people i was.

Written by char.

char, 18, Sydney – AU 

IG: @viswrl

I’m a non-binary butch artist with a love for photography, zine making, and writing.