Where would you start telling your story? In the beginning was the word. The word, in fact, was immigration. That may sound rather odd, since I’m not what anyone would call an immigrant. But my mother was. My father, in fact, one might say also was, since the borders of… Read More »Day 20

When did you pretend not to care? Every day, I pretend not to care. I have tried many ways to express this — I am not male, I am not masculine, I don’t think like a man. But I look like one. At least, to me, I look like one… Read More »Day 19

Tell me about silence. Silence is what happens when you express your love for yourself. I am happiest when it is silent. That’s when I can breathe, when I can think, when I can be happy alone. I live in an apartment. While that’s a fairly common thing to do,… Read More »Day 18

It’s Valentine’s Day. If that’s not a concept you’re familiar with, let’s summarize it for you. The name comes from a Christian saint that nobody really cares about in the least because, realistically, he didn’t do anything worth talking about and is filling out the already-massive named saints list that… Read More »Attack of the Hearts

I have received a fairly large amount of odd comments of late on my blog posts. Some of them have been positive, which is always pleasing to see, yet a few have been intensely critical and intentionally hurtful. I really just have one question — why would anyone be so… Read More »A Question of Motive

Tell me about your mother’s hands. My mother is a musician. I don’t mean she fools around on the piano and sings in the shower. She’s a serious, professionally-trained musician and started her career educating the next generation of musicians long before I was born. That’s meant some really positive… Read More »Day 17