How I Learned to Come to Terms With Where I'm From

How I Learned to Come to Terms With Where I'm From

Home: the place of Hurley surf contests and clean, trash-swept streets. Of middle-aged women with breast implants, sandals in January, and gyms so large they have their own hair salons inside. Of community yoga classes in grassy parks, outdoor shopping malls with acoustic guitar concerts, and “Closed” signs slapped to locked glass doors at 9pm. Of hilly running trails, foggy June mornings, and fish tacos so tender they ruin you for life. Home: a place I have loved and despised in equal measure.

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A Grace Period (or How to Channel Your Sadness Into Love)

A Grace Period (or How to Channel Your Sadness Into Love)

This past week has me feeling heavy. I’ve felt heavy with the devastating news of recent school shootings in the U.S. and horrific stories of Syrian refugees abroad trying simply to survive. I’ve been struggling to process and understand the loss I see perpetuated on my television screen, on my Facebook newsfeed, in the chatter of colleagues and neighbors.

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Don't Censor Your Inspiration

Don't Censor Your Inspiration

My sophomore year in college, I enrolled in a creative fiction writing course. I spent the majority of my time peer editing my classmates’ stories with only a blurred concept of what to focus on, recording the zany, sometimes brilliant, sometimes egotistical things my professor said, and wondering when we were going to actually learn something useful.

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Beach Walk

Beach Walk

I clipped Kai’s black leash onto her collar, careful not to tangle her tufts of strawberry fur in the metal clasp. We set off down the dusty, flower-lined North Beach trail. To my right, surfers were clustered in wetsuits on the same sets of translucent green waves. The swell was sizable—six or seven feet at least—and from my vantage point across the railroad tracks the surfers looked like dark dots moving on a live scatter graph of changing weather patterns. 

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