Introspection
J-Term Postcard: The Headless Chicken
The headless chicken ran in circles, its wings flapping in seeming distress, its bloody neck stub gyrating up and down. The children began to pour buckets of water over the chicken for no reason I could discern.
Modern Love: Smoky Love
It was all okay, because with that car I could leave everything behind, and pick up anything that mattered along the way.
The Word: Dawn
I felt a connection to Dawn–if nothing else, we were the two quietest people in the room.
Night Walk
Every night as I walk my quiet mile, I grasp at memories. The sound of her voice. The way her eyes squinted when she was smiling too hard. The words she liked to write. I fear I am forgetting details.
With Black And Hopeful Ink
My mother and I exchanged looks. We beamed. Without saying Hillary Clinton’s name, we both knew why we were smiling. We both knew why I was home.
Coordinates: Sleepover
Judy Bloom and I used to stay up into the wee hours of the night, sharing secrets in the dim glow of my floral bedside lamp.
Endpaper: Daydreaming in Israel
I try my best to listen closely, too, as I watch Fayyad pace around the podium. But if you asked me today what, exactly, Fayyad talked to us about, I wouldn’t be able to tell you.
The Word: State
My story is an Alabama story. I grew up with its names on my tongue, whispers of something untouchable: Sipsey, Black Warrior, Little River.
The Word: Haunt
A large silhouette, at least six feet tall, looms over us. It’s clutching a dagger in one hand. Heavy chains are draped over its shoulder.
Endpaper: Like Father, Like Daughter
An ignorant passerby might wonder what on Earth could possibly attract so many eager line-waiters so early in the morning. But for us, the Harvard Coop’s book-signing event for Springsteen’s autobiography, “Born to Run,” is an opportunity to meet, even for a mere 15 seconds, the man who supported us through life’s highs and lows.
The Word: Labor
I sit here as a result of the tireless efforts of my parents, grandparents and great-grandparents.
Endpaper: All that Glitters Is Not Gold
Many little kids fantasize about their eventual romances and weddings, but between my inability to sleep and my unfettered imagination, my musings about my personal Prince Charming became far more specific than most.
Thanks, Sorry, I Have To Go
It is 2 a.m. in Cannes and I am alone on a dark boardwalk. Well—not alone.
Coordinates: Shopping
That rush, that indescribable feeling—or rather, near-indescribable, since it’s the topic of this piece—only springs forth when I’m shopping for one thing: clothes.
Endpaper: Back Home in Manchuria
“Dongbei people are cu,” I’ve heard—“thick,” unrefined. I liked to fancy we were a little Visigothic, or akin to the Wildlings in “Game of Thrones.”