Essay by Mira Desai
The same genes that pushed my grandfather to seek an education for his sons survive in a new avatar.
The same genes that pushed my grandfather to seek an education for his sons survive in a new avatar.
I steered clear of anything creative, preferring the safety of science over nuance. I lived my life with one finger on my own pulse.
Every time you move, you hear doors snapping shut in your brain.
How delightful to crawl into that space, to hide in the dim light, the green and stubborn smell of bark and leaves all around...
Focus, damn it...although if no one notices, why continue writing?
It would be nice if there were only one storyline for this tragedy, but there isn’t.
The half-life of our characters is a hearty, tangled path.
Together, we’ve survived divorce, abortion, unrequited love, single motherhood, children diagnosed with autism and cancer, surgery, chemo.
With every kiss, the 15-, 21-, 28-year-old self was probably furious with me—each in his own way—for selling out.
In many ways, remembering is a leap of faith, just as writing is.