They brought an old lady, the color of funeral ash said she might be able to beat the demon out of me before I do something rash.
Papaji, An Ode To Fatherhood In Color
Papaji, when you lifted me in the air, with your hands bronzed brown in the hot-baked sun strengthened due to working the plow
The Monster In Still Waters
I've always been in awe of the sea as it moves, drawing in as I breath in and then with a power that frightens it moves away as if alive, a giant living monster with ships clawing at its belly and though it grows it has no roots. How is it not alive when it eats? Even now, I feel the weight of the water as it laps at our boat hungrily.
The Story Of The Crafty Sugar Glider On The Red Bus
''To err is human, to forgive, canine.'' After the passing of my father who left behind a 14 year old Labradoodle, our family thought we were done with pets. Little did we know, we were in for a sugar-y treat.
I was told there would be Cake
I guess you come to expect certain things of yourself and are astounded when things don't go the way you had planned it in your head. My first embarrassing story coincides with the time I watched my first horror movie.
- Second Place in Sister Circle Challenge
In the Times Of Xenophobia
Dear Mama Anita, Mama, when we came here first, the language was the hardest part wasn't it? You practiced for hours, head bent over my borrowed laptop watching videos and old CDs. I remember the trips to the libraries, where you painstakingly selected the best books, and audiotapes and copied word for word pages upon pages of the mysterious English language.
Mirror, Mirror On The Wall, I'm An Aries So I Refuse To Hear Your Beck And Call
Dear Maria you asked why I am the way I am, You could say it all started the day my aunt dragged me out into the heat and then down towards the market in Iran claiming she knew of a 'Wise woman' who can help me get a husband. Ignoring my scowling and complaints of ''I don't want a man and never needed one!'', she towed me towards this half-falling apart store where we were called into a room by a bored teenager wearing a veil. She cautioned us to stay silent and wait for the wise lady to rouse from her talk with the holy one. We waited a whole hour and finally had a conversation with the wise lady wherein my aunt wailed about a niece in her late 20s who is still sadly single. Throughout the wait my aunt glared at me whenever I tried to shift from my position on the floor to relieve my numb legs. It wasn't like I was going to run with my hand captured in hers in a death grip and all my attempts at breaking free thwarted.
That Ain't Ego- That's How We Go With Black dynamite
This piece is dedicated to all the women of color who, in embracing their strength, taught me to harness my own. I have come across a lot of authors on my journey to become a semi-successful writer. There have been many strong women whose stories and words have inspired me and made me become more confident. From Joyce Carol Oats to Alice Walker and lastly Maya Angelou, each of them had one thing in common: These women were honest in their expression of a world that tried to contain them. They took this same world and liberated many through their stories. In participating in their journey to find themselves and in their love for truth, I've realized the power of my own words. From a girl and then to a woman, I have been endlessly inspired, everyday, to become the best version of myself.