Ghosts Scattered Among the Stars and My Father’s Ashes in the Ganga
On space debris and a father's remains.
Annesha Mitha is an MFA candidate at the Helen Zell Writers' Program at the University of Michigan. Her work is published or forthcoming in The Kenyon Review Online , Tin House the Open Bar, and PEN America. She tweets sporadically @anneshamitha.
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Horror in the Vast Rooms of the Internet
We die differently now that we have each other at the tip of our fingertips. We live differently, too.
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When I search for my father, I feel his numbers. Here’s a house number on my friend’s street that mimics the first few digits of my father’s phone. Here, at the 7/11, my receipt totals the amount of the last four digits of his SSN.
How to Survive a Disaster Movie: Be White. Speak English.
When Americans consume media that privileges white survival, what does it mean for which disasters earn our attention, our money, our likes, our grief?
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Maybe, over time, the ephemera of Jack’s life will become less explosive, like a landmine whose triggering mechanism has eroded, rendering it harmless.
Dying in America, or How to Become Completely Invisible
There is no guidebook or set of rules for us to follow; there is no concrete “American” etiquette around death.
Skateboarding Gave Me a Way to Express My Grief
Yes, this system is imperfect. It took years—and the privilege of professional help—before I’d learn to articulate my grief in words.