Introspection
An Inhabitable Archive
What stays behind isn’t paint or plaster; it’s the way we’ve marked each other when the walls themselves were the only witnesses.
Traveling Through
A small part of my mind traces back to the moments I spent sitting in the big hospital chair, able to reflect without worrying about the speed of life around me. Time I thought I had lost.
Good Person
For the most part, I don’t go about my days actively thinking I am a bad person. But I can’t control when the thoughts arise — and when they do, they are relentless.
Love in Spoonfuls
Caring for myself at Harvard is more difficult than I like to admit. I question how I can stem from generations of nourishing women as someone who can barely replenish myself.
Paper Boats
The ground is forgetful — after a few dry months, it’s flustered by the torrent of rain and can’t hold onto the precious moisture.
The Little Black Room: Navigating US Customs as an International Student
Entering American customs is a game of chance. The officers hone in on seemingly arbitrary factors: fidgeting, nervousness, hypervigilance. Yet, warned about the risks of failing to pass immigration, aren’t we all nervous?
Planting a Seed
It seems unfair to say I love someone who I never knew completely. It’s hard to understand how it could even be possible. I have no evidence, no explicit reason why I should love him aside from the blood we share and his undeniable part in giving me life. Yet, I do love my dad and I miss the chance I had at being his daughter, blooming in his image.
Contingency
Most predictions are contingents: over a hundred species will go extinct tomorrow; Mexico City will run out of water in the next decade; I will witness climate collapse within my lifetime. All statements about the future, neither inevitable nor impossible.
Pinching Paper: On Self and Medium
Nothing weighed down dust besides what it symbolized to me.
What If?
In the New York Times’ building in Times Square, there is a front-page story that will never see the light of day. All that was left was the headline: “Madam President: Clinton Defeats Trump In Historic Victory.”
Four
Slowly, her hum has started to dull and although sometimes the bleating anxiety she inflicts causes me to fall at her hands, I realize her power is waning.
