SHORT STORY, LONG

My house was always the epicenter of everything — what started as hosting holidays quickly turned into an open-door, help-yourself policy with grandparents, new friends, and significant others constantly shuffling through.

I grew up watching my mom. Whether it was from the window while she foraged in the backyard plucking seasonal hydrangeas and budding branches for a DIY bouquet, or helping her rummage through the basement closet of mason jars, ribbons, scrap paper, and candles carefully saved and stocked for the right moment. Nothing and no one was too small for an extra touch.

I was taught to value faraway places, explore new flavors, and appreciate different people. I learned how to navigate chaos and to notice the details others often miss. My curiosity was rewarded with creative short stories and doodles from my childhood preserved as delicately as fine art.

A sense of wonder and nostalgia is laced into everything I do and how I think.

This Substack is a coherent brain dump — a collection of my overdramatic and excessively detailed observations as a 20-something living in NYC trying to make sense of the everyday. Selfish and vain as I may be for thinking that this will be something other people want to read, I do think my stories are worth telling.