Introspection


How Not to Be a Big Sister

Looking back, I realized that because I had tried to be the perfect long-distance sibling, I had turned myself into someone unrelatable and distant. I thought that because they looked up to me, I should only show the parts of myself that were worth admiring. Instead, I wondered if the best thing I could do for them was to be totally honest.


Kate siblings photo

The author, bottom left, with her six siblings.


Daye: A Woman Who Untangles Roots

To this day, hearing her switch between languages — her mother tongue, Sorani Kurdish, and Arabic — reminds me of the melding of cultures I’ve always hoped to embody. Yet I find myself replying to her in Arabic. Mama longed for me to learn Kurdish, but I was pressured to embrace my Arab half at the expense of my mother’s tongue.


Good Grief

Some people honor their deceased loved ones with beautiful poetry, speeches of somber remembrance, or quiet moments of reflection. I honored my grandmother with a three minute stand up set.


Asian Non-American?

Categorization can help us feel a sense of belonging to a certain group. But what happens when these categories become exclusive? What happens when these categories instead entrap and ensnare us?


Other People’s Pups

At the end of the day, I’m just a girl, standing in front of a boy, asking to pet his dog.


To Pay Attention

I never thought I loved Chico. But that December day as I lay curled up in my childhood bed watching the interaction between Christine and Sister Joan on my iPad, I realized that I had paid attention to it. And if I really hated it, why did I spend so much time telling other people about it?


Time in a Bottle

I’d never had a real fight with my dad before, but this was a long time coming.


Trying to Remember Louise Glück

I find myself returning to poems like “The Silver Lily” and “Witchgrass” for their drastic reimaginings of time — the eternal way perennial plants experience the cyclicity of seasons, or the striking temporality of the fragile flower. It is in light of this that her death feels strangely unreal, its finality in tension with the timelessness of her words.


Tunnel Vision

On my phone, I collected gold coins and hoverboards instead of accolades and exam scores; I traded these tokens for score boosters instead of writing mentorships. Eventually, I realized that I had sworn off one endless run only to replace it with another one.


Subway Surfers

I was terrified that the rest of my life would be like high school: I would be forever chasing that next line on my resume, that laureate title or publication — swerving around railcars for one more gold coin — in hopes of one more glimpse into how to understand and describe my human condition.


Louise Gluck

Louise E. Glück, circa 1977.


An Asthmatic Character

“A person should stand up straight, not crooked,” my mother would whisper, referring to both the calligrapher and her creation.


No Country for Harvard Men

I felt like I had entered a thick and strange haze. Daily showers made me feel unnaturally clean, and I missed the smooth arc of the sun across the sky. I felt like a space alien walking down a crowded street and making small talk after class.


Hannah Endpaper Image

This summer, my job title was “Senior Returning Mountain Cowboy” and my life was absurd in the childhood fantasy way.


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