entering is easy. it’s the leaving that’s hard. It was easy – simple – the way we stepped into each other’s lives: A question, an answer, and suddenly we’re living together, hundreds of miles from home. It’s always the easy choices, the ones only 18 year olds can make, that end up haunting you the … More enter

It’s hard for me to know for certain if the memories are real. Sometimes they emerge, like sun from behind a cloud, in such stark clarity that they look real. But other times, doubt blooms within me, like clouds of sand in shallow water, coating it all with a shifting layer of murk. However the … More kids in love: (othering from another angle)

Spite is a dangerous seed to sow: once it germinates, it crawls and twines through everything – every memory, thought, feeling. Like kudzu, it explodes, covering, smothering, filling every nook and cranny of your mind, your body. But in that moment, in that initial moment, when you sink to your knees, seed in hand, it … More othering

It’s what they call me. To my face sometimes, but mostly as whispers into eagerly spiteful ears. Or in the cold intimacy of their own homes, the places they feel safe. Mama knows what they say about me. The word has never left her lips but there’s a way she look at me now, from … More bruha

Vina and I sit at the kitchen table, steam from our mugs mingle with our breath in the cool morning air. The sun slanting in casts huge shadows across our faces, laying bare the topography of passing time. “Where do you come in, in all of this?” Vina asks, as if picking up the thread … More where do you come in, in all of this

In the sunlight, it looks horrible. She can see all the cracks and puckers of the marzipan layer, all the imperfections she hadn’t been able to iron out. “We’re late” he says gruffly, breaker her from her thoughts. With a deep breath she hurries from the porch to the car, fumbling with the door, cake … More

Based on the writing prompt “As he/she/they fell, he/she/they waited for” Lani fell in love with Alu. And as Lani fell, he waited for her to run, to leave, like the Alunsina he had come to know from the stories. But, as time went on, as she stayed in this place, with him, he began … More waiting

Shortly after moving in with Vina, for the first time in five years, I deleted instagram. Nowadays social media is flooded with flashy graphics and quick one-liners advertising the ease with which we can change our lives, the ways we can become the protagonists of our own stories. But, there are just as many ways … More change

Dad once told me that storytellers are thieves, vandals. That in order to create, they must take, unapologetically, from the lives of the people closest to them, and display the intimate details for all the world to see. At the time, he was talking about Mama, about the ways her stories came to life. He … More thief

Part 1: Grief As a child, they taught me that selfishness, as a quality, is distinctly unbecoming. Such a thoughtful child, they said – Mama, Lala, Aunty Mari, Tito Bert and Tito Jaime. As my constant nemesis in childhood, I felt that Vina, at polar opposites to me, was unarguably self-absorbed. Though, more than-likely, I … More After