I say I never left this place. I always say that. But for a little while, here’s the truth. I saw Europe. And it was watercolour.

The proof lies in a box at home. It lies to me all the time. It says Europe had us in it for awhile, countless smiles, ticket stubs, rented miles. Squints that were not from the heat. Four people passing off as a family. My parents tried their best to put aside their downfall and a few dollars to show me Disney, to show me Paris, France and my underpants. Holland was purple, and blue, and green, it smelled of flowers. Paris was carnival coloured popcorn, noisy, and a small world after all. Amsterdam did not smell of anything I would have recognised as a child. And of course Belgium tasted like chocolate.

All the colours bled into each other because I saw no borders.
My father slept in a blue room & my mother in a pink room.
They had just finished a fight.
One of the rides got me wet.
Rollercoasters weren’t scary in the least.
I thought Prince Charming was handsome until the photos proved otherwise.
The Eiffel Tower grass was sharp when I rolled in it.
I remember accordions,
having my hair messed up by men elderly, the wind, Tweedledum & Tweedledee.
I climbed a tree with some children I didn’t know.
They both spoke baby English.
The Goofy hat bothered my ears and I needed them
so I traded with my sister’s Donald Duck.
She remembers even less.
It may be impossible for more at her age.

My parents said the trip was for us both, but in the optometrist, I finally saw their faces and couldn’t help but think I succeeded at letting them down all on my own. I didn’t see Europe in their eyes, because they didn’t see it in mine. So ever since then I tell myself that I have never left. I have never left this country. I did not plunge into a bed of grass knives, I did not Disney. I did not smell real lavender or taste real chocolate. I did not go from the blue to pink bedroom. I did not climb the tree.

I saw no borders.
I saw soggy watercolour.
I saw nothing.