Quarter-life Confessions
21. Sometimes my life seems to spark like a live wire, and I feel intoxicated by its opportunity and potential.
Katerina Parsons (’15) graduated with a double major in English writing and international development studies. She lives in Tegucigalpa, Honduras, where she works as the Director of English Communications for the Association for a More Just Society, an organization that fights for peace, security, and anti-corruption in Honduras.
A Good Enough Reason to Leave
This may be the last post I’ll write from Honduras.
If You Visit Tegucigalpa
If you visit Tegucigalpa, you’ll find more than you expect.
If Talk Is Cheap, Are Opinions Mostly Worthless?
How many “insightful” comments about politics or social issues have I made that are really just regurgitations of something I forgot I read somewhere else?
15 (Realistic) Vegetarian Meals
If you’re interested in cutting out meat, or at least eating less of it, here are five days of meat-free meals like the ones I eat—no fancy tools or Whole Foods necessary!
Fake News Family
What works in changing people’s minds? Not facts.
Down with New Year’s Resolutions
Our lives simply don’t work as a checklist.
What I Read in 2018: Three-Sentence Book Reviews
Marilynne Robinson’s debut book is lyrical, atmospheric, and completely absorbing, the “literary equivalent of a Sigur Ros song” as I tried to describe it to a friend.
Questions and Answers about the Migrant Caravan
It is not a partisan statement to say that the U.S. immigration system is broken.
Who’s Entitled to Blueberry Muffins?
Let’s start in a coffee shop where a middle aged woman has just been told that there are no more blueberry muffins. She reacts badly.
Internal Dialogue
“I was always going to do the thing. You didn’t have to hound me like that.”
“Sure.”
“Little Venice” is Sinking
Neighboring governments are refusing to accept these hungry, oppressed citizens, just for lacking a simple pamphlet made of dead trees and bureaucracy.
Not Another Bite
When I first moved to Honduras three years ago, I ate everything my host family ate: beans, eggs, cream, tortillas. Heavy, simple plates—bland, but satisfying. But then suddenly one day, months in, I just couldn’t do it anymore.
What Would Just Immigration Policy Look Like?
The solution to undocumented labor is not the deportation of laborers—it is their documentation.
Virginity: An Education
Chapter 8: Religious Studies II
“There is no such thing as a condom for the heart. Once you have had sex, you are never quite the same.”
-“Pure Again,” Focus on the Family
The Billion-Dollar Business of Donated Clothes
I have a sinking suspicion that most issues work this way—they deeper we go, the more tangled we find ourselves, looking in vain for an exit.
Reading World News without Losing your Mind
Reading the news well and responding to it is not everything, but it is something—and so I won’t refuse.
I Speak with an Accent
What if we heard all accents this way—not as a sign that English is not one’s first language, but as a sign that another language is?
When the Church Fails to Talk About Consent
In church, there is no need for consent, because the rules are very simple. Before marriage, the answer to any question must always be no; after marriage, yes, always yes.
Holiday Small-Talk and Other Things we Survived in 2017
I’m doing great! Yes, still at the same job. Well! It’s going well. Honduras, yeah. Um, it’s in Central America? Down south?
All the Things We Don’t Know
We keep getting messages, some true, some false. It’s too hard to make sense of a moment when you’re in it.
First Drafts
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.
I Am Not the Funny One
It’s not that I don’t have a sense of humor—with close friends and family I joke, laugh, and make others laugh. But there’s an unshakeable earnestness to it.
The Starfish Dilemma
Maybe—and this is hard to admit—I care more about the plight of The Poor than about individuals in poverty with names and faces, each with different dreams.
When I Cross the Street, Cars Stop for Me
I want to be better about recognizing their cousin—micro-advantages, micro-privileges that lead to a world that bends in my direction, that is softer with me, gentler.
A Day on the Bus in Tegucigalpa
I set a few rules—my “day” on the bus would last eight hours, but would include walking to, from, and between buses.
What Happens Next?
There is increasing political talk in the United States about deporting the migrants who are apprehended at our border or inside of it. There is very little talk about what happens next.
Listening for Birdsong
“I’ve always heard birdsong,” my father told me in the car once. “But now I listen.”
Something-American
Here I’m asked to explain it: why we talk so loudly, why we dress so sloppy, why we elected Donald Trump.
Moving Day
A fan. A spatula. Thirty soft-cover books. A pile of dresses. Yarn. A bottle of balsamic vinegar.
