memoir

“It felt strangely awkward to learn how to oil my hair, like returning to a version of myself I had abandoned.”

Thanks to my climate anxiety, I never thought I’d be able to be deeply involved with environmentalism. Then I joined a tree sit.

Tending my sad urban garden is too much hassle for the lacklustre return on investment. This year, I’m kicking back with a cold drink instead.

How prioritizing rest and joy has become an essential part of my Black History Month experience.

The produce bargain rack is where I play a game with myself. It’s the wild-card ingredient not on my shopping list, but soon on my dinner table.