STELLA OMENETTO Some of my fondest memories from when I was younger are grounded in the early morning dentist appointments my mom would take me
ART BY CHEYANNE ATOLE Ekphrasis: a literary description of or commentary on a visual work of art Canadian artist Matthew Wong died by suicide on
ART BY BY ANNICA GROTE This summer, I watched 2001: A Space Odyssey for the first time. The air was tepidly held by the hills
ART BY AUDREY NJO I spent about a year, from the ages of two to three, carrying a stuffed, felt Beanie Baby moose with a
ART BY CHEYANNE ATOLE Throughout my childhood, I was never alone. No matter what space I was in, there was always another body in close
ART BY ANNICA GROTE I like to remember my grandmother in Queens. Even though I spent most of my precious August afternoons the summer before
ART BY AUDREY NJO Beep. Beep. I can hear the fan, perched precariously at the top of a haphazard stack of cotton cushions. It taunts
At a young age, I was introduced to various customs by my mother, who had immigrated to the mainland of America from the Philippines when she
“History is written in blood, Mallika.” That’s what my father tells me. I feel the warmth of my hand clasped in his, the creases of his weathered skin reminding me of the multitude of experiences his life contains.
I have always been pretty mediocre at speaking Tamil. Although I am South Indian and Tamil is central to my family’s cultural heritage, I have never been as fluent as I would have liked. Our family’s annual trips to Mumbai only exposed the limits of my knowledge from a young age.
The secret to a good salad is to finely chop mint, basil, or any herbs you can get your hands on to use as lettuce greens. Adding a bitter leaf such as radish or carrot greens can do wonders in an oily vinaigrette. Kale can be made edible by ribboning it and soaking it in lemon juice or another acid and giving it a good olive oil massage.
I was a poor sleeper from the start. Until I was seven years old, I slept in the same room as my parents and younger sister, not for lack of space, but because I wanted to. I recall waking often, excluded from the scene of a room that was snoring in harmonious tension with its own silence, disappointed in myself for failing to comply with such an ordinary task.