RAINCOAT 

Part 1: How To Deal With Your Naked House Upbringing I am a typical American kid on almost all counts. I was born here, rode the bus here, picked up all my slang, pop lyrics and fashion queues here, but behind the door of my childhood home I experienced a lifestyle that might alarm the average American family. I should say first that I was raised in San Francisco, because that means something I guess. Also, My mother is Dutch and the only one in her family living in the state

Hanami – that special time of year in Japan where everyone overcomes any sense of personal space and claustrophobia to bear witness to tapestries of pink and white cherry blossoms. Living near Kyoto, going to hanami is a cultural birthright of sorts and I tried to share in the collective fanfare for flower viewing. My friend Erin was nearly squealing with joy as we drifted between the clumps of photographers, tourists, and families of Nijo Castle. The trees were lit up with C

I am twenty but sometimes I forget that and the last two years of my life have gone by so fast that when people ask me how old I am, I still say “eighteen”. I am twenty and my mom offered me a beer for the first time while I was home for winter break and it was a Hoegaarden and those are good (and expensive) but I was tired so I said “no”. On the same day, I declined an offer of a glass of wine from my best friend’s mom and a bottle of beer from my best friend’s dad and wonde

Avocado Music (playlist) The greatest thing my father left me was his avocado recipe. Not written, but rather experienced and practiced until I have accomplished a pretty firm grasp of it. This is our guacamole and this is our music. (1. Al Jarreau- Imagination) INGREDIENTS -4 ripe avocados, you should know if they’re properly ripe. If not, I’m not sure you should be making guacamole. -A large spoonful of sour cream -Onion powder -Garlic powder -1 whole jalapeño -1 onion (any

AIR CONDITIONING DANCE PARTY Everyone warned me about the New York heat before I came out here but I rebuked them. I’m from Chicago, I think I know something about stagnant humidity. But now it's the end of July and it’s hot as fuck out here. The subways are something else, and the occasional rain just adds insult to injury. Here is a playlist for the times that I get home after work, lay in front of the air conditioner for an hour, and then gather the strength to dance. I ho

#family #photography

I am taking a ride in the night rain with Wesley. He is driving. The drops splatter against the windshield and catch the light of the street lamps. I tell Wesley that I want a glass car: it would be the closest I could get to the world as a greenhouse flower. I would look down and see the dusty asphalt blur between smudged shoe prints and my foot at the pedal. Wesley does not say anything. He keeps his eyes on the road--not just at the moment, but as a state of being. I am al

I'm crying for the girls who had to rise Like buds unwatered from the crusty earth Without you there to wipe their weeping eyes And help them understand what they were worth. I never felt such pangs of disregard Cause I had words, and you, to keep me whole So even though that ground was awful hard, Your black shoe sheltered me with solid sole. Daddy, you have tread a thousand paths In boots that echoed solemn, black and worn And ringing clear with sighs and rhymes and maths A

Eight months before he broke up with me, my boyfriend took me to the Mütter Museum, which for those of you who haven’t been, is a museum of medical oddities filled mostly with jars of partially disfigured but fully recognizable fetuses at various stages of development. The museum is fairly small, and almost always crowded. Lots of young children visit with their parents. They stand around transfixed, trying to reconcile the things they are seeing with their still untainted

When I think of my family I think of crying. By this I mean both that I think of actually shedding tears, usually brought on by homesickness and a sense of loss. But mostly I think of the literal act of crying. Crying is a big thing in my family, especially on my mother’s side. In private, in public, together, alone, we cry. My family is my mother crying when she meets me at the airport after months of separation. It’s my sister sobbing through the night after her first break