I take with me the henna on the palm of my left hand. It is drawn by a woman with kind eyes and whom I do not remember the name of. I take with me my suitcase that still smells of ESI and my sneakers that are caked with Indian soil from the Lion Fort of Sughdad. I take away friendship and love. I take away with me an orange journal that is still half empty.
Read MoreThe joy of togetherness is a space where there is no giving and receiving and only sharing. In Ahmedabad the idea would start in short, fragmented strips and finish in a long, final sweep like little bits of paper caught together in the wind.
Read MoreIn my first first week of getting to know India, I felt as if she has been reaching over with sweeping arms to put a finger to my lips. Shhhhhh, she would hush, stand beside me and watch as I show you who I really am.
Read MoreA wet arm sticks out the crack of the car window. A red shirt and waving hand grow distant in the rain as our car moves away from home. I am leaving Reading, Massachusetts and heading to Boston. The first thing I leave behind is my little brother, standing under the frame of our garage.
Read MoreThe lights go on and the Tang Theatre is transformed into the house of Count Dracula. There is a bouquet of roses waiting underneath your chair, and you squeeze the armrest of your seat. A story unravels before you, a story that does not take place at Phillips Academy but somewhere else. The clock has been set a hundred years back. The sounds and colors and characters are all crawling to life when a familiar face blooms on stage. All smile stretches across your face and you want to scream her name although you know you cannot. In that moment she is not your friend, but Miss Lucy, the mistress of Count Dracula.
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