“Three Hundred Days: A Story of Likeness” by Youna Kwak
Every good story starts with a dead mother. Nothing worth doing is possible until she dies.
Read MoreEvery good story starts with a dead mother. Nothing worth doing is possible until she dies.
Read MoreEven a bookstall harbors the energy of a huge bookshop, books falling off its edges. You and I fell off a bench once. Gravity tricked me into thinking that it was fate, love, us, falling. . .
Read MoreAt the back of the hallway closet is a leather jacket. It belongs to your dad, she says. . .
Read MoreI was healthy and suddenly, not—an odyssey one sentence short. . .
Read MoreVaralaxmi Vratam, a festival perhaps more important in our Andhra family than Diwali. On this day, our suburban New Jersey home transforms into our homeland. . .
Read MoreI’m an expert at watching from afar—in admiration and disgust. . .
Read MoreHer motto would have to be I’m what matters and nothing else concerns me. She doesn’t try to alter what’s out of her hands. . .
Read MoreThe sun was setting and neon lights snapped on all over the place. Orange and white MUNI buses coasted along. . .
Read MoreNobody walks in L.A. Another lie. . .
Read MoreAccept letting go of the ice cream and nonstop fish, I don’t deny you your pleasure, nor myself mine. . .
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