The Weight of a Name
We carry our names like heavy coats, buttoned against the wind. They are the first things we are given and the last things we leave behind. But beneath the name, there is a person who has stood in the sun for a long time, watching the dust…
My Home, My Nation, by Easa ShamihThe Archipelago of Breath
We often mistake the earth for a solid, unyielding thing, forgetting that it is merely a collection of islands floating in a vast, blue silence. To be human is to be an archipelago—a series of small, isolated landmasses connected only by…
The Heat of Memory
The back of my throat still remembers the sharp, sudden sting of red pepper. It is a dry, prickling heat that blooms slowly, like a secret shared between the tongue and the roof of the mouth. I recall the way the kitchen air felt—thick with…