
The city that knows how to love Argentina
(Unlike the internet during this World Cup)
Essays at the intersection of motherhood, feminism, and global injustice, written with honesty, heat, and heart.
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(Unlike the internet during this World Cup)

How Argentina taught me the difference between inclusion and political correctness

On Wednesday, the New York Times podcast was about Somalia.

“Amanda, you’re a panser.” “A what?” “A panser. It means you create as you go. Like, some people have their stories all plotted out. Those are called plotters. You write by the seat of your pants.”

On day one, more than 170 children were murdered at the Shajareh Tayyebeh Elementary School in Iran.

At dawn, on certain blocks, Buenos Aires looks like London after the Blitz, the day after a terrible bombing.

For anyone planning to publish a memoir, I want to offer some emotional guidance. Not about the writing itself, but about what happens to you once you let something deeply personal out into the world.

A couple of years ago, I was scrolling Facebook when a post stopped me.

From Mormon pews to Hare Krishna drums, unlearning certainty and finding faith again through my daughter.

After a sweaty bus ride home, I trudged through the large wooden door to our 5th floor apartment.

I am a tired mama.

I got in a fight with a loved one about Gaza yesterday.

I heard all about it.

I was dying. Fuck