Publications

As the sun beamed through the kitchen window, I sat at the dining room table, dreading the inevitable battle with my hair. Today was not just another day, but it was the day my mother would confront the mat in my hair. She lined up her arsenal of products on the table: combs, brushes, spray bottles of water, leave-in conditioners, detangling sprays, oils, scissors. My head snapped backward as my mother yanked the brush through my tangled hair. As the ceiling panned into frame

I always knew that I was black; the problem in my case was how black I seemed. I never considered myself to be light skinned, but to my peers they considered otherwise. In middle school whenever the topic of slavery was brought up, I would become a part of the conversation prompted or unprompted. “She would be working in the house” would be followed by laughter and points in my direction. Feeling uncomfortable I would try to approach this as the best way I knew as a middle sc

As I purse my lips around the cup and the aroma of cardamom and honey fill the air, I feel the happiest. A cup of Persian tea will always make my day. In Persian culture, drinking black tea, also called chai (چای), is a common tradition. During every event or celebration I can remember, chai is always served with an abundance of saffron-infused sugar cubes and other sweets. When I reflect upon memories with my family, gathered over cups of tea, I think of the most joyful memo

People tend to say “Life is like a game.” If that was the case, then I guess I got unlucky and played it on hard mode. Being the oldest in a Chinese immigrant family was hard. It meant I had more responsibilities and the pressure to succeed fell heavily on my shoulders. The responsibility of helping and watching my younger brother, and helping my mom whenever needed seemed minuscule compared to learning English. Learning English was like trying to finish a puzzle blindfolded.