“Where are you from?” Thrill and dread. That question we all prepare a thirty-second elevator pitch for…
Read MoreImagine the chaos of the first few years: Romanian, German and English mixed together in a way that it took us sometimes minutes to realize what exactly it was that our own children were trying to tell us…
Read MoreThe song Piel Canela conjures images of my sister in traditional Costa Rican dress, dancing while it plays…
Read MoreIsn’t that always the case? You plan for life to go a certain way, only for it to forge its own path…
Read MoreYou once said to your father: “Papa, you are brown.” He gently took you to mirror, “Yes Chook-Chook, so are you”…
Read MoreI remember a few instances vividly from my childhood in Pakistan, which would now be looked at with horror in the west, as an invasion of privacy…
Read MoreI adapted to the new environment, but life never became easier. As I walked down the street, students from my school would yell, calling me Chinese…
Read More“He’s English, but we won’t hold that against him.” That’s probably one of the nicer remarks he invariably makes whenever anything touching the subject of England comes up…
Read MoreMy dad’s anger had been a constant in my world of inconsistencies…
Read MoreThe meal is comforting but a little bittersweet, since the usual suspects aren’t around the dining room table tonight for this adventure with my Lola’s written recipes. The food just didn’t seem as complete without my Lola hovering over us to see if we’ve gotten enough sauce over our rice mounds…
Read MoreThe three of us viewed the crowded steam venting streets being worked for subway tunnels as an industrial Disneyland. Men swarmed up and down bamboo scaffolding. We snaked our ways along the queues for the old red double decker buses that bumped their way around Kowloon...
Read More