this phrase rang throughout our house anytime someone was in pain
i have used this odorous slick substance for cuts bruises pimples and even pounding headaches
it call monk oil because the oil is ritually blessed by monk in a temple on a mountain where my grandmother treks to retrieve it for our family
when i moved to the united states at the age of 8 my mother made sure that we brought along a bottle of monk oil in luggage
america wad so far away we needed it in ready supply
as i start school in a foreign country i quickly realized that my home remedy was not the only strange part about myself
my mom bought my clothes from the local street market back home and i was treated differently for being sent away into ESL classes every day
at first flattered by the attention i soon grew weary of the other kids curious stares
my differences mage me feel as if i could not connect to the new world