Home birth sounds so...
Homey! Sweet! Safe from fear!
What a welcome, to bouncing baby
Who will arrive through legs, in arms… home
Home birth sounds so...
I am the keeper of the dreams and the memories, the matrix where the generations converge, the record-book held between familial bookends. I am responsible for passing her life on to him that she may continue to live and that he may understand the consequences of history and culture as people commonly do.Read More
It’s Tuesday 23rd January 2001 and I don’t want to go to school. Today is a different day from the ones that have gone before. Every day since Saturday has been a different day from the ones that have gone before.
I get myself up, and dressed. I eat my breakfast on my own in the kitchen, which is like a waiting room. I delay deliberately so that I can get the later train. No one else from school will be on that train, and I won’t have to explain.Read More
I heard the words, but they had never really registered. “Remember, no sleep for two year!” my boss warned when I shared the news of my second pregnancy with him.Read More
Some people ask how I became a world traveler. I guess I got it from my mother. She never told us to be curious or to seek out new places, but she made anything possible.Read More
Kids have a way of helping you see things clearly. Maybe because they consume so much of your time and energy until all that remains are the essentials? I don’t know how it works, but I do know that shortly after the birth of my son, my old dream of becoming a writer suddenly became very important to me.Read More
I'm enjoying a cigarette on my rooftop. I'm sorry that as an all knowing thirteen-year-old I told you how to live. It's funny how much changes in ten years. The older I get the more I understand your stress and anxiety. I remember watching you and thinking, "why can't you just be strong for me?"Read More
It’s a filthy place, the inside of his mind, but I’ve ruthlessly forced myself to wade through the sewage of his thoughts.
He followed me for a block, waiting until we were somewhere with less traffic.
I am cerebral person, I have to think about things, rationalize them, untangle them, for a long time after they happen. Even if it’s torture. Even if it’s pointless.Read More
If you met me now, you probably wouldn’t think that I was the sort of girl who allowed boys to walk over her and treat her like shit. You might not even think I was the sort of girl who liked boys — with cropped hair and flannel shirts I’ve kind of done all I can to deter men from taking an interest.Read More
I am not allowed to be angry. I don’t mean I’m not allowed to yell or break things or act out, though that is strictly forbidden as well, obviously. I mean I am not allowed to feel the emotion itself. It has no place in my being, no space it can comfortably take up. Instead, it squeezes into other homes, transforms into anxiety or rejection or, a personal favorite, self-loathing.Read More
Rage enveloped me in my mother’s womb. It bathed me in amniotic fluid that permeated my cells, and developed who I was about to become. The origin of this rage could have evolved from my mother’s life events.My mother from Japan, who immigrated to America a decade after WWII ended. Whose legs carried her as she and her family ran from their house after it was bombed and burned to the ground, barely making it out alive. Whose eyes witnessed the horrors of war, when her city of Osaka was burning.Read More
It all comes down to an email.
You're not welcome back without a letter,
explaining your illness.
It was a Sunday in September and I was nursing one of the worst hangovers I’d had since college. Hours of restless sleep, lying completely still on my back in the dark, choking down stale crackers only to lose them again a few moments later; this became the day’s very unwelcome routine. The night before was the wedding of a good friend and I absolutely took advantage of the open bar.Read More
It all started last March I was looking out the window while driving to a regular doctors appointment. It was a gloomy morning. I looked at the road and saw all the cows and farms on the country road that led me to the Doctors Office.Read More
Leaving cardiac rehab, I don’t know yet that I will binge today. It’s after the binge that I realize it was a shadow clinging to my heel since I opened my eyes and stumbled to the bathroom to pee and brush my teeth.Read More
I remember the day I started taking antidepressants. I waited a couple days after picking up the prescription, partially in denial and partially terrified.Read More
My firstborn was a seven pound preemie. He was born at 35 ½ weeks, so he just barely qualified for the moniker. I only use it in air quotes, out of respect for the mothers of what I call real preemies.Read More
When I was little I would lean out the window of our second floor Mexico City home and sing to the stars. I would make up my little melodies as the evening lingered on with my little brother joining me in my serenade to the “little lights up in the sky.”Read More
I was always working hard to keep up appearances with family, friends and anyone who I thought I needed to impress. In high school, I experienced fear. It was a fear of being caught-out for not understanding what was being taught in the classroom. In no time at all, I became good at acting. I possessed all the skills necessary to give a convincing performance and I was very believable.Read More
Standing in front of the woman who ran the camp, I was ashamed. “Sorry,” I said, weeping too hard to stop.
“You caved,” one of my eleven-year old bunkmates hissed as we left her office.
“Jellyfish spine,” another said.Read More