Some nights when the clock strikes midnight. Some days in the early hours of dawn, when I am asleep and also awake, I feel an intense icy wind stir.
Like the inside of a vast cave that resides inside a forest, the wind fills my bare insides, stirs the sharp vacant space.
In these times, the hollowness is palpable; a forever stamp of what this body will never bear.
Sonia Chintha is an Indian American writer who lives in the Washington DC area. She blogs, writes poetry, and fiction. She is also an English teacher who believes that our experiences teach us more than any test. She is the founder and co-editor of Good Little Girls.
Spinach, cabbage, onion, grape tomatoes, quinoa, apple, and radish swish around our wooden salad bowl waiting for their glistening attire. Olive oil, balsamic vinegar, nutmeg,
When I think of Indian Aunties, I think slightly overweight, always dressed in saris or floor length night gowns from the eighties, and most importantly
How to play the game: Stay calm, be persistent, but also find a way in, a crack, a sliver, a baby inconsistency and start there