I get a kick out of writing about all the stuff that makes up my life. Like about when I was seven and on a hot Saturday afternoon, my man-of-few-words dad tied a little pink pillow to my bum and taught me how to roller skate using just the three feet wide sidewalk in front of our house and a lot of patience.
Or about the first time I traveled to China as an exchange student and in between my language immersion classes and getting chubby on the cheap, juicy dumplings I’d eat every morning on my bike ride to school, I understood more about my parents’ culture in one year halfway around the world than in the eighteen I’d spent living in the same house with them.
And I still haven’t forgotten the time I fell in love with a charming man not far from the Black Sea, or how ecstatic I was to be moving there to start my life with him, or how it felt when I found out he was married.
I’m writing and sharing as many stories and as honestly as I can. Hand dipped in the nostalgia of childhood, peppered with the masks of identity and scars of heartbreak, and so often coated with just a bit o’ honey.
We all have our own stories. Ones that make us smile and feel all warm and gooey inside; others that may be tougher to talk about but have made us stronger, braver, more badass.
I hope you enjoy reading some of my stories, and I can’t wait to hear yours.