This essay is about those from a poor country who get scholarships to attend university in the US. I was inspired by the transition theme of NoViolet Bulawayo’s “We need new names”. The style of “How they arrived” mirrors the style of three short stories in the book: “How they appeared”, “How they left” and “How they lived”. I love the way NoViolet used the third person voice in those short stories. Her “they” sounded impersonal yet emerged to be oddly personal, with a face, a voice, even a personality I can sympathize with.
Continue reading “[Day 33] How they arrived”
The problem with emails nowadays is that how the hell my future publisher is going to scrape together enough hand-written letters by me to put into a book when I die? Look at the collection of letters by Saul Bellow, P. G. Wodehouse, Scott Fitzgerald and you will see what I mean. Now your natural reaction would be: “Why would any publisher at all want to collect your letters? They don’t even know that you exist.” That’s technically not true. Some publishers do know that I exist. The other day I went to a publisher in San Francisco to inquire about the status of my submission. The receptionist recognized me immediately: “Not you again.”
Continue reading “[Day 27] Short story: My posthumous collection of letters”
Our writing professor asked us to write the beginning of a new story whose first-person narrator begins telling her story in the moment of crossing a major life threshold of some kind. This is what I wrote–pretty much how I feel right now.
“It was the end of my second year and I was already sick of school. Sick, sick, sick, sick. A sophomore with the soul of a 5th year post-doc, a 19-year-old that wore the fatigue of life on my face like a veteran wearing the death of his comrades on his battered uniform. In the morning I lied in bed with my eyes staring out of the window, my head pointing towards the door. Mom said only dead people slept with the head towards the door—that’s how they always place the coffin at the funeral where she grew up—so that their soul could exit the house unhindered. Maybe my soul was looking for a way out too.
Continue reading “[Day 20] A life changing moment”
Tender: Tinder for chicken strip lovers
Tinpot: Tinder for marijuana lovers
Tensor: Tinder for physicists to find each other and write papers together
Tinderella: Tinder for gold-diggers Continue reading “[Day 11] 10 alternatives to Tinder”
Disclaimer: This story is based on the true story of John Hofsess, a Canadian writer who helped 8 people to commit suicide before committing suicide himself in 2016, and Jack Kevorkian, a doctor who was convicted of second-degree murder for helping more than 130 people commit suicide. This story doesn’t reflect the author’s point of view on assisted suicide in any way.
Continue reading “[Day 6] The Charon: A Short Story on Assisted Suicide”