What I said I Wanted to Be.

When I was younger, when we were all younger, people would look into our baby blue eyes, eyes filled with fairy floss and innocence and naïveté , and ask "what do you want to be when you grow up?" For me it wasn't a doctor or princess or fireman, it was a baker. And then … Continue reading What I said I Wanted to Be.



At the front door, I think of the scribbled note left on my bed. Hastily and angrily written. I look at my yellow rubber boots, at my sister on the couch, and the crying windows.

All the Places I’ve Lived. p1.

#1A 4910 50th avenue. I have always had the desire to keep my life in a tidy little suitcase. Filled with prize possessions and nothing else. Ready to take off at a moment’s notice. As a child, it was easy to fill that brass-buckle briefcase with knick-knacks. A pink bear, a polaroid camera, a framed … Continue reading All the Places I’ve Lived. p1.

Adulting, and loving it.

  I, contrary to what many of the millennial friends express, love being an adult. I love paying bills: the balancing of accounts, the realization that I have enough spare money in my account to have a drink out with my friends at least twice this paycheck. I love setting my alarm, even if the … Continue reading Adulting, and loving it.


We stand at the hood of the blue Toyota Echo with the cardboard box filled windows, and its sagging hatchback. Just the two of us in the quiet of the morning, too excited to be nervous. Itching to get going, but not yet wanting to leave. There are too many goodbyes to give, but we … Continue reading 2.


A family recipe. Handed down from my grandmother to my father and eventually, after much begging, to me. The same mustard yellow 4x6, creased and ripped, touched by every member of our family. Cut haphazardly from an old cardboard box. The Goldilocks Family Shortbread Secret Recipe. I'd share specifics with you, but I'd have to … Continue reading 1.