I often lapsed into, ‘My Spanish is not enough.’ What I really meant was, ‘I have the words, but I do not have the right contexts and references to mould them into a bridge to make a connection with you.’
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I am surprised by the ways I have chosen to soothe the ache in my soul. Surprised to find that I have brought home with me and I am daily burrowing deeper in the comfort and safety of it like a tortoise in its shell.
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Let's stretch if we can or shrink if we must. But let us know what we have for today, with its fears, strengths, people, and all—that we may understand and seek what we need for tomorrow.
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In many ways, I am only just learning what it really is to love, to allow myself give and sit with tenderness. To not hurry to protect myself…
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At first, Paris is stinking metro and constant hand wipes in panic. Then, Paris is thousands of bodies walking slowly along the Champs Elysees.
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One morning, from my sleep I can hear birds chirping, and it is so clear it feels like they’re flying above my head, cartoon-style.
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Our first apartment sat on the cross of Onipan and Ilupeju. We were wide-eyed pretend-adults struggling to have money left at the end of the month.
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I usually start each TinyLetter by pooling random notes and half-formed thoughts to find the common thread in my thoughts over a recent period.
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Love does not die calmly, even when it dies quietly. It is a storm that leaves someone asking whys and your heart skipping.
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It is easier to lead people down the path of their own happiness than to explain the questions I have not even answered to myself. Don’t give me sorrow.
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A few weeks ago, E asked, "Why does fun stop for grown ups?” I did not know what to answer. I still don’t know, but I think I’m relearning what it means to have fun.
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In day time, I'd sit outside and just stare at the parts of the city that looked like hills had climbed into heaven to nuzzle the skies. In the dark of night, city lights shone.
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I forgot to push my body forward or relax, and so I sank, bending knees in search for floor, hands flailing in panic that he would be distracted and I would drown.
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I follow random conversations everywhere, and I followed this one out of the mouth of a 77-year-old man and off a train at a random stop to a bar.
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Each photo is accompanied by a short, hand-written description, and I spend a Sunday afternoon after church sipping sherry and chatting with the aged couple.
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