Since voicing my intention to transition, I’ve been revisiting my favorite love-as-a-woman songs and reorienting myself within them.
I try to focus on this. What is my anxiety telling me? What can I say in response?
Who will remember me when I am gone? Will my stories exist beyond my life? And what about the things we already forgot?
Here, Vietnamese people hold the distinction of having been refugees twice over—first from Vietnam, second from Hurricane Katrina.
What does the word “country” mean? Does it mean anything on its own or does it just color in Americans’ fuzzy sense of what constitutes Americana?
My life as an American in Paris is a far cry from what the glamorous direct-to-DVD movies make it out to be. Still, that’s the story I tell.
Succubus, siren, gold-digger, temptress: There are so many words for a woman with money in her hands.
There is a comfort in believing that all our ancestors’ understandings of time and space, however met with destruction, live on.
Every day, as news reports about climate change become more threatening, I grow more nostalgic for the places and objects of my childhood that feel increasingly imperiled.
In Darjeeling, the landscape and my familyscape seemed to be living, breathing beings, the paths like veins and the stories like the flow of blood.