Life, After Eighteen
By Jocelyn Perez Frida Kahlo’s“Lo que me Dio el Agua” provokes many emotions within me, as well as brings forth not just one in particular, but an onslaught of memories, specifically, the bathtub, and its significance to me. I had learned to perceive the bathtub as a place of cleansing and renewal, a place where, after the hardest of times, the water could simply wash away the pain of the day. I pictured some of my troubles rolling down my back and into the drain never to be seen again. The painting, however, made me wonder if my troubles truly vanish into the maze of pipes, or if they truly linger in the tub, present every time I step into it, rotting away in shadows. Could it be that they sit there waiting, watching night after night, prepared to reveal themselves when they so please? In the approximately fourteen years I have lived in this apartment, my bathtub has experienced countless showers, cleanings and those warm bubble baths, but it has also been stained numerous times by my...