An ode to bathtubs, ‘PEN15,’ and the women in my life.
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In adolescence, weekend lunches meant fending for ourselves. On certain Saturdays, my sister and I ate wafu spaghetti together.
The trick to a good nostalgic curry rice is to finish it with honey. Just a drizzle at first.
The affectations of white anime enthusiasts made me feel fake, confusing my yearning for the language and familiarity I craved.
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I’m coming to terms with the fact that—whether it ends in an unfollow or in a blow-up bash in a house in Malibu—sometimes the kindest thing we can give one another is a goodbye.
Though she lives, some part of Korra—the flame throwing hothead, insistent on taking up space—does not survive.
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.