On a morning when my nerves crackled with anxiety, my writing teacher read us the poem “Small Kindnesses” by Danusha Lameris and encouraged us to consider the small kindnesses in our lives. A hand gently leading me to look towards the light — that, in itself, a great...
Wasia Jan was six years old when her father was killed in the India-Pakistan border conflict. The year was 1999. He was a tailor and had never been involved with the military, though his brother had been in the army, and Jan thinks that this may have had something to...
Wasia Jan was six years old when her father was killed in the India-Pakistan border conflict. The year was 1999. He was a tailor and had never been involved with the military, though his brother had been in the army, and Jan thinks that this may have had something to...
I’ve forgotten the could-be’s name, but remember all too well the feelings that he elicited in me: discomfort, disconnection and a self-consciousness to the point of paralysis. I sat across the table from him at a Chinese restaurant, trying to focus on the task at...
My favorite gift ever, the thing that meant so much more to me than the slick, Silicon Valley emblem it is generally taken for, is on its deathbed. The lump in my throat may surprise you, but not me. My beloved MacBook Air, the now six-year-old, lithe little machine,...
