I am writing about Magnolia right now so that I don’t have to say anything else about my father, and about why I am the way I am. I am avoiding a confrontation with the circumstances of my childhood. It’s another way to run, to hide, and also to process and archive at the same time. This is my version of Claudia’s art practice. This is proof that something happened, that I survived it, and regardless of my lonely and sickly soul, I am here. I am alive.