Essays
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Parallel Practice: Story at the End of My Fist
I will throw a lot of punches. Thousands. Hurl my fist. Aim for the target. Do it over and over. Fail.
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“A Path to Happiness”: Commemorating Sex in Patrick Nathan’s The Future Was Color
Happiness, however temporary and intermittent, is emphasized as vitally important in the cited paragraph and throughout the novel, a rarity in a world steeped in destruction.
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Who Comes to the Ancestor Picnic?
With my flimsy paper plate overloaded, I take a seat with my parents and three generations of distant cousins. And here, the picnic’s real flavor emerges.
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Going Home: An Excerpt From The Translator’s Daughter
On Tuesday, October 4, 2005, my mom was reported missing from her home.
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Parallel Practice: Aftermath
This is often all I need from it. To make sense of some immediate piece. To ease the ache of existence.
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Dream Futures
Again and again, I return to this: being in community is the antidote to feeling dread, despair, and powerlessness.
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The Comfort Room
What is a caregiver before the diapers need changing and the wheelchair needs pushing?
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I Didn’t Learn My Grandfather’s Name Until He Died
On the phone with my father, I volunteer my shame and regret through tears. His name. How could I not know his name?
