January 15, 2024
but you also forget the names of acquaintances, people you knew things you were good at, national and state capitals…
January 14, 2024
The email from British Airways popped up just as my sister and I arrived at Glasgow International Friday night before our flights home: “We're really sorry that your upcoming flights have been canceled.” A bonus day in Edinburgh? I knew just what I’d do.
January 13, 2024
I couldn’t understand why you kept calling our parents, the phone ringing repeatedly before Dad silenced it. “He wants money,” Dad whispered knowingly to Mom. I was too young to understand that you’d done this all before: drunk texts and calls, expectations of payment, always late at night.
January 9, 2024
We had been friends for over twenty-five years. More than a quarter of a century. I don’t know why I feel the need to emphasise the length of time we’d known each other, as if the more time invested the deeper the friendship. There is perhaps a strong correlation but no causation between length of knowing and love.
January 6, 2024
She rummaged through his coat pockets for a flask. He had, after all, the day before sworn off liquor, having literally gambled the shirt off his back in some bar’s backroom.
January 1, 2024
One weekend on Chinese New Year, we gathered in Trafalgar Square for the performance of the lion dance. Amid the throngs of people, we cheered and clapped for the dancers. We swayed to the traditional music.