Feb 11, 2020
Mourning My Dad and the Dog He Never Wanted
If I could save her, I would. I needed to feel that it was in my power to save her, to save something. I didn’t need her to be uncomplicated. I didn’t need a good dog. I needed her.
If I could save her, I would. I needed to feel that it was in my power to save her, to save something. I didn’t need her to be uncomplicated. I didn’t need a good dog. I needed her.
I’ve published articles on examining the archive’s margins and gaps to recover women’s stories, but that won’t help me understand that girl who left her family when she could no longer live in shame.
"Juice" had the type of lyrics that forced me out of my solitude, whether I wanted to be out of it or not.
Most paanwalas sell loose cigarettes. I don’t smoke often, but when I do, I buy one or two. I never buy them from Muchhad.
That first time I heard it, the music was so catchy and the words were so ridiculous that I threw my head back and laughed. I opened the curtains that had been closed for a month.
To this day, I can’t tell you the names of my extended family in Taiwan—but I can tell you their astrological signs.
Sharing clothes feels like sharing a secret, the same way being someone’s child does.
It goes like this: sit with the thought, don’t move your fingers, arms, legs, let it enter you, let it stay, let it leave.
On some level, we all know: Everyone who is etched into our being will one day vanish.
To cope with pain, and prepare for parenthood, I had to learn how to breathe. To breathe, I needed more than air.
Morisot’s paintings of women up close lined the walls, a pastel perspective at vanity tables and in gardens. My breath rushed in: beautiful.
Just as America’s horrors led Baldwin to flee decades before, I waded through my own fear as a gay, black man coming of age in an America burning once again.
This was not the information I was looking for. This was not the truth I wanted.
As a young girl, running away is considered a flight of fancy. As a grown woman, people think it’s just flight.
It’s very calming, very methodical, very good if, say, someone you love has died, but you know the world cannot stop, and you can’t either.
Obtaining a perfect grasp of masculinity was not my goal when I decided to transition, but I certainly did feel the pressure to try.
I do not believe in a soul but these past six months of illness, I am guilty of dislocating, of clinging to magic. Of wanting relief. Of being sick of being sick.
Around the time I was in seventh grade, I started performing makeshift eye surgery on my grandmother.
“Hoba! Hoba!” my daughter screeches, using the short word for ‘hobotnica’—octopus in Croatian. My friend says, “She’s Croatian alright.”
I had always found a gathering of women sharing their stories and wisdom an effective way to touch the divine.
