The Warehouse
I spent most of my formative years inside a dance studio, a dusty warehouse with its metal ballet bars, its body-warping mirrors, its worn flooring, and its echoing ceiling. From ages 3-14, it was my full time job. The routine always went like this: I’d go to school, make my way home, rush into my baby pink tights and leotard as my mom stabbed me in my parietal lobe with bobby pins to get my hair in a bun. The car ride to dance was intense, my mom wasn’t great at time managem
1 minute ago2 min read
For the Coffee-Drinkers
If you’re like me and you get four hours of sleep every night, then this is the list for you. I’d like to say I know coffee pretty well,...
Jun 22, 20252 min read
The Matriarch
When I attended my great-grandmother’s funeral, I felt guilty for how much I cried. It’s hard to be sad when you aren’t supposed to be. I...
Jun 22, 20252 min read
