we were at a party, or some kind of evening gathering. my dad took us, me and a friend. we told him we were ready to leave, and we were getting our stuff. he went to another closet to get his things. i saw two guys approach him. one of them punched him in the… Continue reading missing
the great thing about grief
Since my dad died ten years ago, I’ve been looking for a way to show people what I know. What everyone who deals with grief knows. It’s not easy to explain, but if someone you love has died, you probably know what I’m talking about. The way you view the world turns upside down. Everything… Continue reading the great thing about grief
father, non-father
I stepped into the bathroom light, with the dress already on. The bathroom has two doors, the bathroom shared by two rooms. Like some kind of in-between state, a bardo. I looked into the mirror and thought to myself, this is the dress you’re wearing to your father’s funeral. Father? What makes a father? He… Continue reading father, non-father
one step at a time
i want to go back to a time when i didn’t know about the jordan trail. a time when i wasn’t blistered, bruised, broken and beaten. a time when a toilet wasn't a luxury, a time when water was readily available, a time when my toenails weren’t threatening to fall off. but it’s too late.… Continue reading one step at a time
the beginning again
it’s been over a month since i left new zealand. new zealand, new zealand. aotearoa. i didn’t want to fall in love with a place that everyone else falls in love with. i didn’t want to be impressed by your scenery or warmed by your people. i wanted to resent you for making me choose… Continue reading the beginning again
my mother
how can i describe her to you? if you knew her, if you knew her at all, you’d surely agree with me: it was her smile that first won you over. we all knew this. it was a fact of the world. her big, white smile. you hoped that time would slow down each time… Continue reading my mother
a short story about a long thing
my parents couldn’t get pregnant. but they really wanted a baby. who doesn’t? screaming balls of flesh are joyous creatures, no? they were desperate. so my mom asked a friend to help her out. he did. she got pregnant with a baby who didn’t make it. i sometimes think about this would-be-older-sibling or would-be-replacement. i’m… Continue reading a short story about a long thing
the humans that made me
i remember my dreams. every morning i wake up and the intricate scene replays in my mind - often violent, always interesting, and of course, completely, perfectly explainable. i feel compelled to preserve this sacred story somehow, and because it’s morning and i’m in bed, getting up to scrounge for a pen and paper is… Continue reading the humans that made me
fifty-one days of zoloft
i wish i had never discovered the question: who am i? it plagues me. the more i probe it, the more i become incomplete. for the past year, i have tried to achieve simplicity, only to be faced with enormous effort. understanding is something that i love to do. it’s a gift and a suffering.… Continue reading fifty-one days of zoloft
in search of the truth
dear dad, for the first time since you died, i had a positive dream about you. i was playing hide and seek with my friends, we walked by your room, we saw that you were sleeping. ‘shhh, we don’t want to wake him,’ i said. we tiptoed quietly. you looked like you were right where… Continue reading in search of the truth
