Ama wipes her hands on her apron, looks up at our old roof with new eyes, and lifts the baby from his basket. She twirls him in the air, her skirts flying around her ankles the way the clouds swirl ar...
In the evening, the brilliant yellow pumpkin blossoms will close, drunk on sunshine, while the milky white jasmine will open their slender throats and sip the chill Himalayan air.At night, low hearths...
When I have run out of words to copy, I look out the window at this strange place called India. Inside the train, the people around me are snoring. I don't understand how they can close their eyes whe...
Look. I have a strategy. Why expect anything? If you don’t expect anything, you don’t get disappointed.
You show you care, you die.You show you fear, you die.You show nothing, maybe you live.
The power of storytelling is to free us from isolation, shame, and whatever the situation.
My bundle is light.My burden is heavy.
Simply to endure is to triumph.
Inside my head I carry:my baby goat, my baby brother, my ama's face, our family's future. My bundle is light. My burden is heavy.
Hey, S.T., Sydney says finally. I don't budge. She nudges me with her elbow. You want to know something?I still can't look up. But I nod.It's not your fault either. She says this like it's not big dea...
Long time I been on my own, but now really I'm alone. I survive the killing, the starving, all the hate of the Khmer Rouge, but I think maybe now I will die of this, of broken heart.
I inhale deeply, drinking the warmth in the scent of mountain sunshine, a warmth that smells of freshly turned soil and clean laundry baking in the sun.
Instead, we linger over a luxury that costs nothing: Imagining what may be.
Then I place the blade next to the skine on my palm. A tingle arced across my scalp. The flood tipped up at me and my body spiraled away. Then I was on the ceiling looking down, waiting to see what wo...
Guard the portals of your mind.
Back at the hut, all my sister, they start to cry. No crying, my aunt says, very strict. You cry only in your mind.But later, when everyone else asleep, I hear my aunt, her tears, they fall like rain.
This affliction--hope--is so cruel and stubborn, I believe it will kill me
If you look hard enough, chaos turns into order the way letters turn into words.
I ask Ama why. Why, I say, must women suffer so?
That first phrase-please bless me, Father, for I have sinned-was so humbling and so total, Matt always felt a kind of absolution as soon as he said it
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