I do not want to be tire. My life is tire.
The idea of exploitation seemed to me fraught with assumptions about what a blind person is supposed to do and be—assumptions that insist blind people be poets and prophets, saints or beggars, not lowbrow entertainers.
I tried to put the institution of religion aside to better understand God, but the two were so inextricably linked where I grew up, it felt impossible.
Among the delights of time spent with urban wildlife is the reminder to be quiet and patient—not an easy task for a New Yorker.
Coming into one’s sexuality, Natalie Portman had taught me, goes hand in hand with learning how to deceive as a means of survival.
It is no wonder that I am so in love with my bees. They fight for their lives.
When I was younger, I didn’t understand the restorative, purifying effect of tteokguk. Maybe I didn’t even feel like I deserved it. This year, I welcome it.
So many people have suggested I stop taking medication for my bipolar disorder, anxiety disorder, and panic attacks. The stigma is strong.
On finding beauty in Houston amidst the ugliness, and what the city stands to lose from increasing gentrification.
In the midst of terrible isolation, reading Julian’s feverish words about her visions helped me feel sane. Here was another woman, enclosed.