My husband is Portuguese and like most people of the country he is thrifty, hardworking, and incredibly resourceful. Coming personally from a frugal, rural background we both have a unified ideal of living small and simply. The one place where we seemed to differ however was whilst grocery shopping. I typically just choose the least expensive option always, not paying much attention to anything else, while my husband is very particular about checking the country of origin, refusing to purchase items not locally sourced if at all possible.

After a few rounds of teasing, I eventually asked him what did…


There is a daft principle of sorts that has been bouncing around for millennia, guiding our perceptions and more or less providing the basis of most of our judgements— the principle in mind being that good people are nice and bad ones are not.

Immediately your interior pragmatist might find a problem with this; what even is nice? How do you define it? Also what is considered nice in one country might not be in another etc. These are all good enough considerations of course, but really don’t answer the quandry. …


I’m taking long sips of coffee and glancing out the window to where the ragged roof lines of Topeka meet the grey January sky.

The drone of convincing voices, drowns out the best hits selection playing over the sound system. One manager is blaming a salesman; a customer asks what is covered in his extended warranty.

The reality of replaceability permeates the building — new models, new objectives, new people. I can’t number on my fingers the amount of people who have come and gone in my short 15 month stint I’ve managed to complete.

Nobody cares but me I…


There comes a point in life when you realize that no matter your efforts or best intentions, you will ultimately disappoint everyone.

It might be the clutter spilling out of your soul and onto the counter, or the fact that you forget so many things you need to do, it will come, and you will never be ready for the feeling.

Guilt, anger, depression, sorrow — any and all of these emotions combined rip through your body with oppressive force — I am not and will not ever be good enough, or perfect.


I went to Mass yesterday; same routine as every Sunday — tumble out of bed, put on some makeup, drag yourself to church with all of the other parishioners crazy enough to attend service at 6:00 in the morning.

There’s the customary battle for seats as the pew we’ve sat in for years has suddenly become the place of choice for various families. We scowl a bit, settle down, and listen as the prayers of an ancient faith wash over us and remind us of our purpose.

We’re Catholic which means half of the world hates what we are and…


There’s a problem I have which nobody ever really discusses, what do you do with leftover memories?

Like that small portion of a lovely dinner tucked in the back of your fridge, the memory sits there — it’s not enough for a meal, but you really can’t use it for a snack, so it stays there waiting, and waiting, until finally it spoils and you toss it out.

The problem with leftover memories however, is that there is no disposing of them; they’re permanent fixtures in your psyche and no matter how spoiled they may be, there just simply is…


I need to write, but the idea of writing seems so repulsive.

You know how it is — completing a project isn’t a difficulty until you have a deadline and it suddenly becomes a chore.

When did the thing I studied and love become so odious? But then isn’t this a question we all ask ourselves about people and places in life?

The truth is I’m afraid. …

Märtha Custis-Miranda

Writer, dancer, dreamer, poet - let's explore life and see where we end up. xx https://www.instagram.com/lady_mae_custis/https://memoirmag.com/10-minute-read/me

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