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“I’m an immigrant and a refugee, you fucking mook!!!” Those were the last words I texted a childhood friend who was defending his decision to vote for Trump. This guy and I once smoked pot together, hit on girls together, and drank massive amounts of booze together, all growing up in south Brooklyn. We made all kinds of hopped up plans together. We vowed to change the world while under the influence. My buddy has...
“My hands are full when you give me your hand.” – Edmond Jabes, The Book of Questions: Vol II It’s 2001. A greasy slice of pizza falls onto the kitchen floor of my grandfather’s Chinese restaurant in Queens. Without pause, my grandfather, who I call A-yeh, picks it up and takes a bite. My wide, flat nose—identical to his own—scrunches up in disapproval. That’s gross, I think to myself. “When I was nine we were homeless...
1972 Late on a January morning you arrive at Heathrow after a long series of flights. It had been daytime when you left Calcutta. This is the second time you’ve been in the air. You’re planning to stop in London for a couple of days, then fly on to Boston. Your final destination is Tulsa, Oklahoma, where you will start college. You hand over your traveling papers. Instead of a passport, you carry an Identity Certificate issued...