So why, when I have the time, can I not seem to put my phone down and experience the wonderfully mundane moments that I pine after so fervently on a screen?
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Perhaps, we hold on because we’re afraid of who we are when we forget.
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A Love Letter to Dork Diaries and Embarrassment
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Now that we are in a state of emotional bankruptcy, any tangible form of genuine connection is currency meant to counter the isolation and alienation we are bound to feel.
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Whether it be times of uncertainty or triumph, music has always been there to see us through until the very end.
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I’m trying to remember that not knowing someone’s favorite band wouldn’t be the end of my world, nor would it ruin my shot at friendship. I’m trying to follow a new script now, one that requires much less acting.
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I want to believe, with all the teenaged optimism I can muster, that we’ll find a return to concerts and shows, to our cultural humanity.
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You were a beautiful mess of a canvas, soaked in one colour but overflowing with celebration, intellect, and youth in revolt.
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I saw the need for reinvention as an acknowledgment that there was something fundamentally and irreparably wrong with me, when change is actually the most natural, most human process in the world.
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Sometimes, misogynoir can be so embedded in our existences that we might not even see it when it’s right in front of our very eyes, and instead we suffer subconsciously.
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Unhealed wounds are being reopened as I sit in my room, wondering about his life, and all I can do is hope he is okay.
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For a while, I thought of myself as a detective, picking up pieces of my grandmother’s story where they were offered and trying to fit them together.
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It’s a terrifying day when you realize your mind is wholly incapable of giving you all the answers. I think that’s when it’s time to realize perfection isn’t going to set you free.
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Personally, I enjoy the experience of writing the letter. It makes me feel like a character in my most cherished classic literature stories.
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It's time to stop believing that the person meant for us is something that is given to us and start realizing that they are someone we choose ourselves.
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I have spent every second of life worrying, and I can’t find a way to just enjoy the silence.
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Trends should be reserved for patterns and hemlines not bust-to-waist ratios.
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Re-falling in love with my instrument.
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I have to understand that living true to the standards I’ve imagined for my life is a decision.
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There is no right way to be a feminist—even mainstream feminism gets things wrong.
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