I first came up with the idea to do some kind of piece about my behavior on my phone when I realized how often I pick up my phone to do one thing and end up doing another thing altogether. The idea was that I would track everything I did on my phone for a…
My parents always said that I was “mature” for my age, which now, looking back, may have been their way of expressing relief that I was fairly easy to manage as a child. Over the summer, I asked my mother to bring me some knitting things from my old stash, and she was very amused…
I have lived my life for the past eighteen years according to the familiar rhythm of the school year. Semesters and midterms and breaks formed my notion of time, and I was always working toward something specific, be it a diploma, certification, or award. My academic life has shaped my perception not only of the…
Mother found a lump on the side of her head today, above her ear. She showed Anita in the car, as they waited for Susie to finish her piano lesson, pulling her hand to it like she had eight years before, but now it was to her head instead of to a breast long gone.…
It’s Valentine’s Day, which, for an occasion that barely constitutes as a holiday, seems to receive more polarizing press than it deserves. I guess it’s because, with its flow of reminders that you either are or are not in a fulfilling relationship, people find themselves lumped into some box or other and naturally become intensely…
Hear me out— I’ve spent the past week binge-listening to comedian Allison Raskin’s scripted podcast Gossip, and it’s absolutely delightful. As a chronic eavesdropper – I can’t help myself! – this podcast is a dream. It’s akin to revisiting the same coffeehouse every week, listening to the ladies in the corner table, and being able…
While turning twenty felt like the end of an epoch, twenty-one feels rather quiet and inconsequential. Besides the practical aspect of having finally turned an age that my peers have all been for months, I’m looking back on the last year and, uncharacteristically, don’t have much to say. Sure, things happened. But they all sort…
Interstate 880 runs right along the eastern shore of the San Francisco Bay. Its posted speed limit is 65 mph, but drivers are indifferent, rarely meeting radar guns or speeding tickets. My grandfather was the same— I, ten years old and vaguely interested in staying alive, would shout from the backseat for him to slow down, alarmed as the speedometer continued pulling clockwise.
You asked me once why only lovers kiss—
And turned to me with something in your eye;
I pulled away, but now I reminisce
And wonder if I’d like it if you’d tried.
The first time, it’s easy. You’re excited, having thoroughly googled about boarding school and high school and making friends and study tips. Your parents drive you down, help you move in amidst the chaos of all the other families and their daughters. The first night, you lie on your back in your new bed with…
