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Joyful summertime memories from my youth come rushing back whenever I smell the chlorine in a swimming pool, feel the oils in a coconut-scented suntan lotion, get the late-night itch after a sunburn, or hear the sound of crickets on a warm, starry night. I smile when I think back on fun times, then pause because I cannot wrap my brain around how quickly that season of life passed. Once I accept that those things did not happen yesterday, I let myself sink into the privilege o

I am awkward. And when I say awkward, I don’t mean like the shy person who gets uncomfortable in large groups or occasionally says the wrong thing. No. Those are microdose awkward moments. I am megadose awkward. I’m the kind of awkward that makes me come home, shut the door, and vow never to go out among humans again because it’s too painful for me and whoever crossed my path that day. Last Saturday was one of those days — the kind that makes me consider putting myself under

As part of my daily grooming routine, I open the vanity cabinet under my bathroom sink, and every morning, I’m greeted by the same scene: a dark, chaotic underworld of body‑care products and hair tools living in what can only be described as a lawless society. I stare into the abyss at the hundreds of products I’ve collected. Some are shoved so far into the back that they’re basically in the witness protection program. Others sit proudly at the front, practically waving at me