There once was a lady, of middle age, who woke up in the mornings alone. When she wasn’t alone, she loved being it. She particularly loved a morning alone when granted. To have her first thoughts belong to herself, as opposed to the other: The child, the husband, the lover. Oh how she longed for […]
moreTwo women cross the same street, on the same intersection, each in opposite directions. They meet midway and stop to talk. They know each other but clearly not all too well. They are distanced, while closed in by the cars that race by, left and right, trams and bicycles and trucks and buses rage on. […]
moreIn a different life, it feels, I felt myself becoming sick. And sicker. I was so tired that I could not lift my arms. A friend would have to wash my hair for me. O It turned out my arms were paralyzed due to a lyme infection. I remember the day my GP told me […]
moreOutside the department store, two girls discuss what else they’re going to buy. They are at that age between child and adolescent, when bodies have suddenly grown boobs, shoulders are slumped, hair is greasy and faces are pale. Their eyes turn inward as opposed to nd away. One of them says, “we both bought the […]
moreDo you remember the child you once were. Is there a piece of it there. Inside you somewhere. Think of it, sit with it, close your eyes and feel it. Its arms around your neck. Is it fair, I wonder. I wonder is it fair to claim it was free. No care in the world. […]
moreThere is this little girl who can hardly sleep, that’s how much she desires the walking-talking-doll she saw on a commercial. At night, she thinks of how she’ll take the doll to the park, discuss how she hates spinach and wishes she was old enough to wear high heels. She is saving up for the […]
more“Good enough” is not even the issue. It’s understanding the state of your art. Writing means endless rewriting, and if you’re one of those people who think every sentence you’ve jotted down is a work of genius, then that’s simply the mark of amateurism. Because the truth is: you can rewrite and rewrite and rewrite […]
moreThe dance teacher has us on our knees in front of a chair. The palms of our hands push hard against that chair. We are to open our shoulder blades and subsequently chest. Meanwhile our stomach muscles work hard to not strain the lower back. “See?” she says, “now you can finally relax the trapezium […]
moreMy six year old son bursts into my parents’ home. I’m standing there making a phone call as opposed to sledding outside in the snow. He is frantic: he needs a camera, quick. He is followed by my father who has only just returned from Tanzania. His face is tanned and torn, spots of pigment […]
moreThe woman is the same, but her pace is different. It is light and her hips swing gently, left to right. Her skin has tightened itself around her face, her eyes have opened to see more of the world. Raindrops feel like snowflakes to her. She stands, while the other woman sits on the floor […]
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