When solidarity becomes unity

A family narrative through the act of reading I love books. I love their crisp white pages, that weirdly aromatic new-book smell and the etchings of black ink. I love their yellow sun-kissed edges, the cracks in the spine, and the well thumbed through corners. I can’t exactly remember when I started loving these inanimate…

Always meet your heroes

There were two holes in my tights, right on my thighs. They were those big holes, you know, the ones were the strings of fabric run across the tights gaping abyss.  They felt punk. It was perfect. Paired with my trusty Doc Martens, reflective gold skirt, black aviator jacket, red lipstick and a beret, I…