I knew about Matt’s legacy, but I didn’t know much about his life.
New responsibilities clogged up phone lines and changed what used to be lifelines—how were we supposed to maintain our relationships?
I was certain my appearance would mask my secret: that I didn’t belong.
I wondered how I would confront what I thought was my worst: my sexuality.
When your brain is presented with a scenario, it makes a decision: Does it file this moment away as a unique event, or slot the information into an existing pattern?
It was an acrimonious divorce. I wanted justice. I settled for truth.
A space has been created by this unflinching journalism, this unabashed Instagram memoir.
Maybe it’s unnatural to talk to my grandparents about Partition like an anthropologist rather than a granddaughter.
I believed I had been nurtured, like a lamb, for one purpose: Mine was to be thin.
After her arrest, I started to understand. All the racist slights and foolish men my mother had endured. More reasons to be angry than I could count.