Dear Reader, In Act 2 of Hamlet, the titular character says, “The play’s the thing / wherein I’ll catch the conscience of the King.” Though Shakespeare was referring to a staged play—and he certainly didn’t intend for a group of students in 2020 to read so deeply into one line that it became the first […]
1. There’s a place I’m going / no one knows me The first time I hear the only Matt Simons song I know, I am sitting on the floor of my childhood bedroom. A girl I have only met twice has punctuated an Instagram montage of coming home from OCAD—landing fresh from Pearson Airport, driving
An adventure for Dungeons and Dragons and similar tabletop RPGs
The Department of Soul Studies Read More »
My brother and I were never the closest growing up, with multiple factors stacked against us: our seven-year age gap, our subsequent lack of common interests, and the slight bumps in communication due to our uneven bilingualisms, and my brother’s hearing disability. The few times I did feel close to him, however, were when we
Player 2 push start Read More »
My father passes me a pack of gum as he drives us to school. My brother can now sit in the front seat, and he turns the radio on to 96.3FM. In a rare moment free of advertisements, Mendelssohn’s Octet in E-flat Major plays. The notes become tinged with the mint of the chewing gum.
A World Without Words Read More »
I laugh, relaxed on the couch, at Instagram raccoons. At their bad-posture-spines and their chubby bellies. How sweet, a paper towel roll over its nose or playing, like a human, with a television remote control So adorable reaching from under the porch with their black gloved hands Grabbing a snack. I like it I think
It’s one thing to follow raccoons on Instagram and another to follow them in real life Read More »
Every time I am asked to choose what I do in my spare time on a Buzzfeed quiz, I find myself stuck. I like theatre, but that isn’t really something that I can pick up and put down when I want to. I like to read, but I barely have time for even class readings.
The defining feature of an only-childhood is playing alone. As the solitary offspring of my parents, I conjured for myself a rich world of make-believe, the nooks and crannies of which—depending on their content, and to a dwindling extent as I aged—I shared with my parents and no one else. In it, I was an
I thought I saw you when I stepped to the counter the third morning in a row, and you waved my hand ready to pay away as you slid the faded blue mug towards me, “It’s fine” you caught my eye between the swish of your ponytail and the glint of gold at the rim
Love letters to girls I’ve smiled at vaguely thinking it might be true love Read More »
Superimposed childhood nostalgia
“Maybe the 80s will be radical” Read More »
