My Absent Abba

My Absent Abba

My Abba and I barely spoke. And while the lives of my friends’ fathers were not as complicated as my Abba’s, their memories of daddy-daughter conversations were limited too.
My Brother’s Keeper

My Brother’s Keeper

I’m grateful for my younger siblings every day and have anointed them my guardians. We were raised to be a team anyway, responsible for each other’s care and protection.
My Life as a Juvenile Graffiti Vandal

My Life as a Juvenile Graffiti Vandal

The first time my friend desecrated Juhu’s pristine footpaths with his vile aerosol can, I was overwhelmed at the prospect of finally getting to live out my childhood fantasy of being a graffiti vandal, like the ones I’d read about in Europe.
Christchurch Shooting: My Brother Escaped the Australian Terrorist. But He Might Never Escape Islamophobia

Christchurch Shooting: My Brother Escaped the Australian Terrorist. But He Might Never Escape Islamophobia

My brother was in the mosque when Australian terrorist Brenton Tarrant opened fire at Christchurch’s Masjid Al Noor, leaving 50 people dead. Long before the call came, it was as if my family had been preparing for it our entire lives. Tarrant was only turning another cog in a giant wheel of violence, greased by generalised Islamophobia.
My Life as Sweaty Betty

My Life as Sweaty Betty

Hyperhidrosis is a weird kind of illness. It’s enough of a condition to have an important sounding name, but it isn’t debilitating enough for people to feel sorry for you.