In quarantine, as men bereft of the services of barbers took to wearing hats indoors, they were adopting a long practice of mine.

Reading frightening stories with my children in turbulent times.

The novelist discusses the politics of silence, questioning your idols, and the accumulation of shame.

Girlhood was gone. Girlhood was over and dead for us all. We didn’t miss it. In its place, anything could happen.

As we moved through different neighborhoods, my family stayed in a Japanese American bubble.

The sweaters my grandmother made hung loose, so I could grow into them.

Soft fabric shoes plus a large crowd equaled a big mistake. They were ruined by the end of the day.

She wore an electric blue wig and what I can only describe as a blue thong over fishnets.

I guess I wore that shirt a lot, though I never really thought of it as my favorite shirt.

The unitard is a portal to existing only and fully inside myself.