My aunt was a horror movie freak; she used to watch horror movies all the time.
She was only 11 years older than me, so when I was a young child she was a mere teenager — an age where the thrill of the only-imaginable death, suspense and horror are at its peak.
I take a moment waiting for her to finish debating a course of action with one of her intimidating male colleagues - something about the contents in the carry-on bag of the person in front of me - to look back once more and see him wiping a tear from his red, puffy face.
Some women chew ice; some drink vinegar. The more daring ones swallow cotton balls soaked in water or sniff nail polish remover — they say the fumes make them dizzy enough to forget their hunger. Some women throw up after every meal or take 20 laxatives each night.
It almost didn't seem real, standing on my front porch surrounded by walls of boxes. Everything from photo albums and pots and pans, to clothes and books filled the cardboard cartons that were being hauled out to a large steel shipping container that sat in our driveway. I wandered through the house that was becoming increasingly empty; each room I entered filled my head with more memories.