As my birthday approaches, the years that have built up to create this life wind and intersect in my mind. Loops of memory of all these years. Years stack on top of each other and stand side by side, three and thirty-two, six and thirteen, twelve and twenty-four…. and centuries more. Some memories race, while others saunter in… Read More Hundreds of Birthdays
I was born by the river in a little tent, and just like the river, I’ve been running ever since.– (A Change is Gonna Come) It has been exactly two months since I came to Saigon, and two weeks since I started the English teaching course (CELTA) that I came here to do. The days… Read More Born to Wander?
The streets of Saigon are an unimaginable chaos. Hundreds of scooters weave and turn, whizzing by vendors who wheel fruit and food carts in the middle of traffic. Locals call out to the tourists, “Where you go?” or silently sidle up and whisper, “Marijuana?” Young women hand out flyers for spa, nail and haircare services.… Read More First Days in Saigon: Down the Rabbit Hole
In Lisbon, every cobblestone is a drum, every tile on a facade, a stringed instrument. Lisbon’s streets and buildings are full-fledged orchestras; andante; allegro; crescendo; adagio. My canvas-bound feet knows the rhythm and keeps the tempo…or perhaps, the streets know mine.… Read More Passport in the Palm, Again
A black body (also blackbody) is an idealized physical body that absorbs all incident electromagnetic radiation, regardless of frequency or angle of incidence. In a conversation with a friend last week, she reminded me that “we’re sprits having human experiences.” I had read that in The Seven Spritual Laws of Success and agreed it with then, as… Read More The Black Body
Two days ago, Roxanne Gay published an op-ed piece in the NY times about the vulnerability of Black bodies– male and female. She started the article, with words friends and I have used when discussing the racial situation in the U.S, “I’m tired.” Thanks to cellphones, we’re seeing just how often Black children (who somehow appear… Read More R.I.P Sandra Bland
Dear Friends, It’s Saturday afternoon, which means that it’s a flea market day, a beach day, and the day for grilled octopus at the restaurant beside the gas station. In this corner of the world, where the sun washes up in waves on the asphalt, the jacaranda trees have shed their last blossoms, and the dogs… Read More Accept What Is