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There is something hard in me, a seedlike malignancy. I can’t say how it got there or when, but I can’t remember the last time I felt pure love or sadness or joy. It’s always a mix of things, some confused and muted in-between.
By Lucy TanFebruary 2024Of a fifty-year marriage, of an immigrant’s journey, of a terrorist attack
By Our ReadersJanuary 2023About a career, about college, about living in America
By Our ReadersDecember 2022Three of the nine justices have publicly articulated their position that the Constitution does not contain a right to privacy — at least, when it comes to matters involving contraception. . . . And that’s just the three we know about.
By Feliz MorenoNovember 2022A father’s lesson, a son’s apology, a husband’s surprise
By Our ReadersNovember 2022The way Americans interact with each other now has made it clear that the Constitution was perhaps never deserving of all the praise it’s gotten.
By Mark LevitonAugust 2022It was too quiet: no bellowing of elk, no call of owls. As I opened the front door, I could smell the beef stew I’d left simmering on the stove, but there was no music, and our dog Neva did not greet me.
By Teetle ClawsonMarch 2022I understand that though it was not my choice to listen to the Jackson 5 during the procedure, I will now think of their seminal hits every time I smell isopropyl alcohol in my vicinity.
By Hanna BartelsJanuary 2022I used to feel like an imposter because of my breasts, because even before I got pregnant they were pretty spectacular, and it’s made me wonder if I’ve ever actually earned anything, or if all the jobs and awards and opportunities I’ve gotten, really, have just been handed to me because of fat deposits that would be disgusting if they were placed a few inches lower, on my belly.
By Bridget AdamsSeptember 2018An illegal abortion, a brother’s drug habit, Cold War secrets
By Our ReadersMay 2017Personal, political, provocative writing delivered to your doorstep every month—without a single ad.
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