This story has no moral or point. It’s just a story about what I did with my ice cream sandwich. I’m not in grade school anymore, so I can write whatever I please.

“You Don’t Look Adopted” was just what I needed to believe in my ability to stay the course. To tell my own story like it is with only myself in mind.

I used to have no idea why I could not focus consistently in school.

I read recently that the infant’s body discovers hunger when it has a feeling that is addressed when the mother feeds it

When Alfonso Cuarón wanted to make a movie about being alone, he came up with the idea of putting his character out into space, unmoored, tethered to nothing.

I am not in full ownership of my life. Admitting this is humiliating and it makes me angry.

I am curious if the trauma associated with losing your mother at birth or soon after affects the body’s ability to know it is there.

On her birthday, my daughter is matching people’s donations with money of her own to help support Asian businesses that are struggling during COVID. It’s easier to think that birthdays are about cake and presents and wishes for untold happinesses. But the truth is that when we are birthed into life we get the whole Pandora’s Box.

Nash was not my dog first. Other people loved him before I will get to love him.

Sit down. Stand up. Drive. Go for a run. It doesn’t matter. Lie on the floor. You just have to be alive for this to work.

“What cannot be communicated to the [m]other cannot be communicated to the self.”

Sometimes it’s easier to love what isn’t there. Sometimes it feels easier to live in your head instead of in your body.