Introspection


Searching for David

As soon as I grew old enough to understand what the death of my brother meant, I became obsessed with other people’s siblings.


Endpaper: What I Mean

The truth of the matter was that his death jolted me into awareness. It made me all the more conscious of how I was always too afraid that what I’d say wouldn’t be intelligent enough, or substantive enough, or just plain enough.


The Word: Citizen

“Hey you — All our fevered history won’t instill insight, won’t turn a body conscious, won’t make that look in the eyes say yes, though there is nothing to solve even as each moment is an answer.” — Claudia Rankine, “Citizen: An American Lyric”


Endpaper: Boba

Before I knew it, five boba places, each with its own distinct culture, dotted my tiny city.


Don't Talk to Strangers

I would draw the literal shortest straw and my mother would ask for another one on my behalf, as long as it meant I didn’t have to risk slurring my words in front of someone who frankly couldn’t care less.


J-Term Postcard: The Headless Chicken

The headless chicken ran in circles, its wings flapping in seeming distress, its bloody neck stub gyrating up and down. The children began to pour buckets of water over the chicken for no reason I could discern.


The Word: Dawn

I felt a connection to Dawn–if nothing else, we were the two quietest people in the room.


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