I’ve refreshed my browser at least twenty times today, hopeful to spot the first inklings of a flower about to unfurl. It’s the corpse flower, a tall phallic spadix, bulbous bottom, that blooms once every year or two for just a few days, emitting an odor that’s
Collaging makes sense of my madness. My brain going in so many different directions, ruminating, stewing. It calms me. It puts my inner workings in a physical manifestation. Collaging is an act of spirituality. One that, even if not every part of me wants to collage, as soon as I
“Severe separations in early life leave emotional scars on the brain because they assault the essential human connection: The [parent-child] bond which teaches us that we are lovable. The [parent-child] bond which teaches us how to love. We cannot be whole human beings—indeed, we may find it hard to
I should be able to wear this identity like skin. It is a grief that has haunted, raised me. Its ghosts casting shadows on the kitchen walls of my childhood homes. It has found me in so many places. But the neverending numbness of the ambiguous loss of my parents
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We had an Encyclopedia set in the first house where I ever lived. A dedicated bookshelf in the basement with the red bindings in an alphabetical row, the letters guiding you to the topic of interest. I loved skimming through those books, reading any random blurb, running my fingers over
