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The first few times I meet someone, I make several categorizations. The process is intuitive—almost unconscious—but over the years, I’ve come to recognize how much I quietly note. From, the way someone carries or presents themselves to the apparent glimmer—or lack thereof—in their soul, I find that I’m constantly registering what I believe to be the essence of their being and mapping these…
Recently, I’ve come to realize I’m not sure what I want. If you’re reading this and you know me personally, this may come as a shock. Nevertheless, I believe it to be true. I’ve spent much of my life desiring after certain goods. Taste, a respected job, knowledge, reputation, character, worthwhile relationships. Out of all these and more, I’ve attempted to pursue the select few I considered…
Over the past year, a phrase I’ve become increasingly fond of is that “[something] is a ball of wax.” 1 I first heard this phrase in an academic context referring to Substantive Due Process—an area of constitutional law notorious for forcing distinct questions together in elusive ways. 2 Its meaning, though not immediately obvious, is rather intuitive—that something is a tangled, messy, blob that…
A few Sundays ago, I stood before the Church body, freshly baptized, with a bouquet of yellow tulips in my hand. But as I stared into the smiling pews, I found myself tormented by a thought. I am the first in my family to believe. Dare I have faith when so many do not? I’ve been told “you will know Him by His works,” but since I’ve believed, I’ve faced the regular heartbreak and hardships. Life…
short story about shared silence
When I was young, my parents frequently took me and my brother to the New York Hall of Science in Queens. In the center of the museum lobby stood a large plastic funnel, its edges encircled by grooved ramps, its body covered with countless shallow scratches. On the base read "Gravity Well." Children queued around it, eager for their turn to set a quarter spinning around the rim. Silver…
There is perhaps no convenience so humble, so plain and unremarkable in its daily use, as a pair of glasses. While the oculist grinds the lenses and the optician fits the frames, the wearer carelessly hooks the wires behind each ear with the ease of a man tossing on a beaten coat. Though his vision focuses, he thinks nothing more of it. But let us not be so easily dismissed by the mundane. The…
As I’m drafting this, we’ve just passed the holiday season; from it, I have some general thoughts about what makes a good gift. While these reflections aren’t exhaustive, they may offer a helpful starting point for future gift-giving occasions. Let us consider the characteristics of the ideal gift. Most chiefly, it must be personal. Now, this doesn’t mean you have to pull out the crinkle-cut…
From a liminal space —a world between worlds— Doom’s empty gaze fixes upon me. He takes great delight in knowing I see him; I close my eyes to think about the first time I met Doom: On a sleepless night, then-rare, no amount of sheep counting or sleeping draught worked, for as I now know, Doom has power to poison sleep. Even with eyes clamped shut, sleep eluded me for Doom was here. His footsteps…
I’ve burned my fair share of bridges. For a while, I thought that this made me more righteous. I would tell myself: “Unlike my peers, who pretend to care for someone while detesting their every breath, I am upfront with my distaste. If I do not like someone on balance, even if we had long been friends, I am happy to cut them off quickly and directly.” While I now regret such an impractical stance,…