More in this series
Solitude Is a Human Presumption
Why can’t we imagine, just for the sake of argument, that a joyful spirit leaves some of themselves behind—an echo of joy in a place they once loved?
Why Chicago
It was the wrong type of quietthis isn’t what I bargained for at all
What do I say?
Why would there have been anything written in my closet?
Maybe this was the pareidolia of someone who avoids human interactioninstead of seeing faces in toast, you see words on a wall
I really need to clean . . .
What do I say?
It was the wrong type of quietthis isn’t what I bargained for at all.
The woman must have made a mistake,
Something needed to give
my
Maybe I am not seeing things after all
—
Oh no, oh no.
I hope I can talk to her more.
Gratitude.
Julia Shiota tries to make sense of the world through culture and literature. Find her on Twitter at @julia_megumi or at juliashiota.com.
Enter your email address to receive notifications for author Julia Shiota
Success!
Confirmation link sent to your email to add you to notification list for author Julia Shiota
More by this author
How My Mother Protected Us from My Father and Found Solace in Art
My mother described the Rembrandt paintings as her friends. I'd never heard anyone talk about art that way, instilling it with something like a personhood of its own.
More in this series
The Dead and Other Unchosen Things
We only used this table for special occasions, for Christmas and New Year’s and birthdays. And for the dead.
Reflections on an Invisible Girl
People wanted to see the girl who’d disappeared and come back. They wanted to see Romy—who insisted she could not be seen.
Dorothy Dancer Has Had Enough
She imagined impaling her husband on the molasses-stained tusk of that elephant. “It should’ve been you,” she said.