When I hear someone talk about “the silver linings of cancer,” I am so immediately turned off by the framing that it’s made me wonder if I’m just disinterested…
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“Is it time to talk about stopping?”
She is watching you quietly, waiting for your answer.
Her question is a betrayal. She is supposed to be midwifing you safely to the other end, not making you worry that the pain might destroy you.
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I was born with blood in the rice
I walked up the rice terraces one thousand times
I fed one million people with my thighs
I am a painter who uses watercolor to personify my struggles and journey of my mental health. I started using paint as a form of journaling because I missed having a creative outlet to voice my inner turmoil…
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My paternal grandmother, I called her Amma ji, had a tattoo on her right forearm, of her name, in Devanagari script: कौशल्या (Kaushalya.) I often joked with her that if she ever lost her memory and they asked her name, she could point to the tattoo…
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My first mothers did not have wombs. I have two original ancient mothers in this glittering world. They imparted wisdom to us when we were not yet real people. Their mythical bodies enliven the stone they rest in and watch by their grace this new generation. I carry my mother’s and grandmother’s eggs — their blood.
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