When stage shows went virtual, traditional directors declared that the form was “dead.” They are extremely wrong.
Across the thousands of miles, and the hundreds of years of historical and cultural distance, Albertine and I had our hair in common.
The years I suppressed my queerness are a loss that I'm exploring and grieving—if only through fiction.
I could almost sense them beside me, as if the spattered index cards they’d left behind had come to life.
What is lost in a story that chooses to make Brandy a princess and Whitney Houston a fairy godmother despite their Blackness, not because of it?
We Asians were in this thing—racist America—together.
I cannot explain queerness any longer in ways that don’t involve ghosts.
Hayley’s rage-filled vocals used to provide an emotional outlet that gave voice to loss, anger, and confusion I couldn’t put words to yet.
Seeing Nick’s imperfections play out in a way that shows he is not a failure, just human, is exactly what I needed to get me through quarantine.