Driving gingerly driving motherly.
Tag: Family
Frijoles Negros al Indios
But you cannot pick around home. Maybe your home, but not my home. I can throw the doors wide–and often do so with open arms–but to refuse a beam–whether it be a corpulent bird or a hi hat trill–is to cripple such a font to its foundation. For it comes from the depths of my soul, indivisible and not mine, but inherited slowly over time with no recipe to speak of, only a dance rediscovered over and over with folkish steps, a memory recognized when lived out with abandon. I cannot choose what bubbles up from this stew.
Shy
In the wake of extremely outgoing parents, I was allowed to drown in my shyness and stay hidden from the world. In retrospect, the label kept me safe for a time. I never had to discuss the turmoil in my life. I learned to dissect and process my pain alone. . .
Tainted Remains
Remember, dying ain’t pretty, and you can’t let the kiss of death linger too long. Pretend that you love him. Pretend that you are Milton’s little girl. Pretend that the pain is too much to bear. Do not laugh at how botched your aunt looks. Instead, kneel and pray—pretend to if you cannot.
No One Wants to Write Poems About the Proletariat Anymore
I want someone to see me./
I want someone to know/
it ain’t easy.
Terminal 3
I daydream a lot about floating in the air. A slow, sort of dead man’s float across the sky. This doesn’t make much sense to me because I don’t like planes. Or swimming. I prefer concrete over carpet. Analysis over meditation. So, the floating in the air thing—well that is a little crazy. A contradiction to my nature that feels oddly good.
Powdered Donut Days
“Addiction is all or nothing thinking,” my father told me, “like your battle with depression. You either pull yourself together or completely succumb to the sadness, never leaving your bed. All or nothing thinking, the hardest and most manipulating kind of reasoning.”
“You Haven’t Lived Until You’ve Died In New York”*
New York had become my campus, or so the flyers advertised. In subway stations, at museums, on trains, in taxicabs, outside restaurants, on street corners, I found myself asking the question: What makes a New Yorker?
What follows are my observations.
Why I don’t drink
I am often asked why I don’t drink. Everyone asks me: people in Pakistan and people in countries that are not Pakistan. I like to joke that I do drink—water, lemonade, coffee, chai. If I didn’t drink, I would likely die. No one ever wants to know why I don’t drink carrot juice or why I don’t eat hard-boiled eggs, but it is of utmost importance for them to know why I don’t drink alcohol.
Our Mess
“Mommy, why is our house painted different colors? No one else’s house is like that.”
“Because honey, your father likes chaos, and I am an artist.”
Distance
107 miles. Sometimes I walk further downtown and the distance increases, sometimes I walk uptown and the distance shrinks. But, that’s only a measurement. It doesn’t matter where I am, there is always a distance between us. Even when I visit you.
Abby Forever
We transition, at last, to the crux. Talk of putting her to sleep; when to make that decision, when quality of life moves on to dignity of death.
An Interview with Yelka Kamara
Yelka Kamara is the creator and host of the podcast Kume: Turning Point Diaries, where she explores critical moments in her guest’s lives. Yelka founded the podcast with a simple mission: tell stories that inspire […]
Golden State: The Alchemy of a Reluctant Memoirist
“The struggle with writing all the time is that you, occasionally, have to go to unimaginable places.”
Heaven Help Us, Heaven Forgive Us
Like any young family, some conversations had to be foregone. Some battles, forfeited.
Two Kiss, Three Kiss
There are two kinds of people in the Persian community: Those that kiss you on the cheek twice, and those that you kiss you on the cheek three times.
Poetry by Madelyn Monaghan
Self-Executing Waiver
Family Ties
her moonlit coat was blue
Dressed in White
Growing up, my parents never really took us anywhere. Everything normal families made a fuss about, like graduations and birthdays, we spent at home. Their excuse was always how tired they were. I hated that […]