Monthly Archives: November 2017
One day, her first love asked her to go with him to get a tattoo and she decided to mark herself with an image of the flower she was named after.
My supervisors all tell me you never forget your first patient.
The concert was that night (THAT NIGHT!), so I ran upstairs to change. I hoped to find something trendy, something that would let everyone at the concert know that this nine-year-old could ball.
This is also the first time I ever took ibuprofen.
You have to choose a direction every single day and hope you’ve chosen right.
First, you’ll notice that the world isn’t just orange push-ups and Math Blasters on CD-ROM. Then, you’ll notice that there are people with Flip Glosses, hair straighteners, and boyfriends.
Gather the large stock pot (it’s in the basement), a pillowcase from the linen closet, sugar from the pantry, the glass mixing bowl, and a yellow packet of yeast from the refrigerator door.
There are elements of the bill which are so obviously giveaways to donors that its almost comical—for instance, there are tax exemptions for owners of golf courses and private planes.
And I realized these are the first things: not medals or adventures, but the cinch of laces around a foot and reliable slide of mud and bitter perfume of sweat rising like smoke off shoulders.
I’ve developed this existential dread of that First Failure, but I can do something about that. I can have as many First Failures as I have Streaks, if I want to.
“Merdarth, general of the Dark Lord’s army, stood, terrified, before the Orb.”
One reason is that we can get insight into human behavior by comparing what people should do in this situation (if they want to maximize winning probability) to what they actually do.
There’s a Dutch phrase about the Dom, my grandpa claims. “See the Cologne Cathedral and you can die.”
Isn’t there a certain bit of wonder involved in math when it’s stripped down? Even when solving proofs, the first line is given.
Then one day it occurred to me how insane it was to keep a journal on the family computer.
I have no dancing around my bedroom with a hairbrush microphone to Britney Spears to look back on. That’s because I didn’t listen to anything other than CCM until high school.
My body went hot, my hands shook with James’, and I felt again for the first time in over a decade what it really feels like to fear your peers.
You are always you, always becoming you. You’re always your own first person, over and over and over.
I grew up knowing that I would not date a woman unless we were going to get married. No pressure, you’ll know when you know, but figure it out and don’t mess it up or your entire life will be ruined.
If you look at any conspiracy website, this is essentially the narrative you will find.
Crowds of people stand with their backs to the colors, their eyes on their phones or on the train tracks. “Turn around!” I want to say, “You’re missing it.”
The last time I knew who I was I had acne, four AP classes, and a Bible in my senior photos.
I’m named after my father’s homeland, a place I know very little about. Because he’s dead, Indian culture is not something I absorb in my everyday life.
The right idea about me is that I am a confident, empowered female person who rejoices in her sexuality.
When I was eleven, the barn cat we kept outside to catch mice had kittens.
I wonder, though, if we haven’t forgotten what vulnerability actually means: exposure to harm, physical or emotional. I wonder if we’ve glorified vulnerability.
My real fear is not that someone will think that I write poorly, but that people will think I write without having anything to say.