Scenes from a Gender 05: The Prehatching Years
I was mortified, to be sure, but also honored and validated, to be on the girls’ team. And oh yes, honey – I’ve never left.
This is My Body, and I Decide Its Meaning
As a person with polycystic ovarian syndrome, my journey to self-acceptance as a non-binary, healthy individual has been long and winding.
Wild Cravings: Memory Soup
For over two years, I’ve been searching for soup. A specific soup. A watercress soup I ate maybe a handful of times spread out over a handful of weeks in the spring of 2015.
Asshole, Autistic and Other A-Words of My Love Life
Something was deeply wrong with me, something shameful. Turns out, the truth is more complicated.
Well, That’s Mortifying: That Time I Didn’t Know About Roger Clemens
The class erupted in wide-eyed giggles and guffaws and I continued smiling at the front of the room, confident and certain that I’d made a very smooth move.
Wild Cravings: Nothing Tastes The Same
The Leo’s group changes from visit to visit. It all depends who’s up in time, who’s ready to go, who’s the right amount of hungover (hungover enough to crave greasy, salty food but not so hungover as to not be able to handle fluorescent light).
Coming to Terms With My Asexuality as a Black, Non-Binary Lesbian
Society can make us feel like we’re flawed or like our relationships aren’t as valid because we’re not having as much sex as we’re “supposed to.”
Well, That’s Mortifying: That Time I Let My Friend’s Mom Crash My Date
We’re making small talk with a random white lady, and it’s all my fault.
Journaling With My Grief
I have three journals. I no longer have my dad. I’ll write this story for the rest of my life.
Wild Cravings: The Mystery Breakfast
If I had a time machine, I’d use it to go back to a breakfast. The problem: I don’t know where or when I was.
Lying On The Floor With My Grief
I wanted to exist with my grief in my body, not so much in my mind.
Dispatches from a Sweaty Accidental Matriarchy
Sometimes a community is just 87 mentally ill homosexuals and the twenty dollars they pass around on Venmo.
Count on Something Sweet
We no longer needed practical. We wanted goodness, even if it was fleeting. We wanted saccharine, even if it left us yearning. We wanted Cosmic Brownies.
Brand New Party Girl
I exist in a fresh, new, virginal body now, and I’ve started to uncover what that means for me.
Walking With My Grief
My grief says, listen: you know how to take care of yourself.
The Trans Body as a Work of Art
Burlesque is my loving manifestation of what all my ancestors deserved—not simply tolerance, but unbridled celebration.
On Grandmothers and Malai Curry as Thick as My Missing
In New York, I make malai curry with everything but prawns.
Eating Breakfast With My Grief
I decided to start sitting with my grief because why not. It’s not like I think this will help, but it’s something to do.
Caesar Salad: Anamnesis
Here’s what I remember: a wooden bowl. My father’s silver hair under the spotlit kitchen island. Hands busy mashing yolk and rind; the squeeze of a tube of anchovy paste, the clinks of spoon to jarred garlic.
50 Questions I Asked Siri When My iPhone Was Joyriding Alone in an Uber All Day
“Siri, can you please lock me out of Twitter?”