I’ll start from the beginning. We read the biopsy results on our way to the farmer’s market in the oldest city in Portugal—a spot I can no longer drive by without wincing. I mostly remember looking at Haffy and saying, “What the fuck? I mean: what the fuck? What the fuck.” I think I was …
A Little Scared
After my mother died, for a brief moment that lasted a few months, I wasn't afraid of death. I had sat with her, dying, praying through and for it like I only ever did again when trying to stave it off; I had breathed in its sacred mundaneness as she exhaled her last, seen with …
A Zigzag Line Home
Faced with the daunting task of writing a second post, I've been going over old stuff and slowly adding it to the blog. One such piece of writing is an autobiography I wrote at 27, as I was wrapping up my time at NYU. Slightly redacted and even less edited, you can find The Calculated …
All the Love in All of the Worlds
Two weeks ago, sleeping in our off-grid cabin in the South of France, I heard a seal. The night before I had absentmindedly swatted a mosquito that was feasting on my shoulder in the darkness, only to find out it was a large, fluorescent green spider. I gasped and then giggled. We shooed it out …
All of the Worlds 