Endpaper
Packing Light
My own life, it turned out, was light enough to carry in a suitcase.
Everything We Don't Know
I was the annoying kid in Sunday school questioning why God didn’t stop World War II and asking why the speed of light was constant in physics class.
Your Reminder That This Is the Ocean
At places like Harvard, the value of today easily fades against the demands of tomorrow.
Again, Again, Again
This, I thought, was what I would do when I was grown up: wear collared shirts and polka-dot bikinis, drink cherry-topped diner milkshakes, and talk about big things.
Inside Out
My clothes had just recovered from being drenched in water from the heavens when the protagonists of Tony Award-winning musical “The Outsiders” ran into a burning cathedral and all the water in my body started leaking out of my eyes.
I Love Kids. No, Not Like That!
It was inconceivable that, in the great universal divide between Adorable Child and Creepy Adult, I could be on Team Creepy Adult.
This is Not My ‘October 7th Story’
Our grandparents know exactly where they were when John F. Kennedy was shot. Our parents know exactly where they were when the second of the Twin Towers fell. And so too, every Israeli knows exactly where they were on Oct. 7, 2023 — we all have our “October 7th story.”
In Transit
I grew up waiting for the weekend, for the days I could take that highway up to St. Louis or to Chicago, constantly itching for the next time I would travel to someplace I deemed exciting and different. I was always disappointed at the end of every trip, when I returned to Peoria.
Free Range Kids, Grown Up
The children of Old Seminole Heights were frequently picked up from school together, often spending evenings and late nights together as a neighborhood family of sorts. We spent time eating buttered rice, black beans, or packages of oreos, but mostly playing Kick the Can.
Door Decor
The transition from accustomed conventions of home to unfamiliar college life was not as discernible as I had anticipated. It was only when cultural idiosyncrasies were missing that the pangs of homesickness rippled over me at last.
Down the Mountain
On skis, there’s no room for spiraling. You don’t get to overthink your next move when gravity is already making it for you. There’s only balance, pressure, focus, and breath.
On Weakness
It became apparent to me that Mama straddled two worlds: she was both intrinsically connected to the women that came before her and painfully aware of the endless possibilities of what this new nation had to offer.
Love in Spoonfuls
Caring for myself at Harvard is more difficult than I like to admit. I question how I can stem from generations of nourishing women as someone who can barely replenish myself.
Paper Boats
The ground is forgetful — after a few dry months, it’s flustered by the torrent of rain and can’t hold onto the precious moisture.
Planting a Seed
It seems unfair to say I love someone who I never knew completely. It’s hard to understand how it could even be possible. I have no evidence, no explicit reason why I should love him aside from the blood we share and his undeniable part in giving me life. Yet, I do love my dad and I miss the chance I had at being his daughter, blooming in his image.
Big-City Blues
When I see New York again, we’ll reacquaint ourselves. I’ll tell the corners that used to know my secrets a few new ones. And then we’ll say goodbye, and I’ll be on a train north — missing home, but glad, for now, that I left.
Acceleration
I am afraid to carry the weight of other bodies, of other lives, with unflinching speed.
Noteworthy Passion
My notes collection became something new: proof that I care.
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