[feature] out of bloom
“They’re just trees; no more pictures!” whines a boy, maybe six years old, to his parents. He is much more invested in the line of ice cream trucks a few meters away than posing with the sakura.
“They’re just trees; no more pictures!” whines a boy, maybe six years old, to his parents. He is much more invested in the line of ice cream trucks a few meters away than posing with the sakura.
The cabin was dark. I sat amidst sleeping strangers and a baby crying nonstop. Maybe it was because everything from my hair to the provided blankets smelled like stale coffee that I sat wide awake, staring at the in-flight travel monitor—the only source of light in my vicinity. On the screen, a small ...
I forget exactly when I first became uneasy with my photograph.
It is May of 1981. Tempo Magazine, one of Indonesia’s largest weekly newspapers, has just published an article about a wedding. “Their affections for one another are a little excessive, even in front of all their guests,” the author writes, seemingly amused. “Bonnie is pinching their ‘husband’s’ ...
As my mom reads off every name, my sister and I try our hardest to commit them to memory. We are six and eight years old, excitedly staring at the family tree in front of us. It is astonishing and extensive, with some very familiar names and others that I have only heard of as characters from my parents’ ...
“I am a product of Nollywood and my loyalty remains unshaken.” -Genevieve Nnaji
“I walk, all day, across the heaven-verging field.” - Mary Oliver, “Upstream”
This summer, I started journaling more consistently, generating list after list to wrangle my otherwise incoherent jumble of thoughts—favorite songs of the month, all-nighters ranked from most-bad to sorta-fun, top five core memories, most transformative friendships. I lingered on the last one longer ...
On my ninth birthday, my Grandpa Bill gifted me a copy of The Little Prince. I remember the cover with the blonde boy who stood amongst the stars, but I didn’t read the story until recently, when Bill sent a letter that reminded me of the image.
tw: body image, disordered eating/body image, some mention of gender dysphoria
Upon returning home from a family reunion trip two summers ago, I was welcomed back by the presence of two very conspicuous solid lines on the white plastic Covid-19 test in my hand. I had not (to my knowledge) had Covid since the pandemic had started. It was bound to happen at some point, I thought ...
Nearly all seventeen species of penguins are intensely colonial, gathering in “great teeming masses” to court one another. To win a female’s affection, males swing their heads side to side or raise their flippers or throw their beaks to the sky to carol their best trills and squawks. Some gentoo ...
O lieb, solang du lieben kannst!
After hundreds of years of disruption, displacement, and colonial violence in Indonesia, I’m learning Dutch. Rudimentary, garbled Dutch, but Dutch nonetheless.
“And the winner of poetry interpretation is…”
“‘I dream backwards now. You won’t believe how backwards you’ll dream someday.’”
“You’re you, you see, and nobody else. You are you, right?”
“Get rid of death. Celebrate increase. Make it be spring.”