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I won’t pretend to know what made me this way, nor will I assume all pastor’s kids are like this. My healthy distance from Christendom, the bubble in which I was raised and for which I find myself simultaneously grateful and embarrassed, has afforded me the luxury of reflection as of late. It is a
I wrote this as a private journal entry. I wasn’t intending to publish it anywhere. But all you should know is that I felt humiliated enough by the thought of posting this that it seemed the right thing to do. Nevertheless, here’s the one I hope you skip– The wind feels stronger when you’re perched atop
I rewrote Psalm 139 as a letter from God. I hope you’ll insert your name where I’ve placed mine: O Arvin, I have examined your heart and know everything about you. I know when you sit down or stand up. I know your every thought, even when you’re far away from me. I chart the
To Anita, My Sister I’m not exaggerating when I tell you that I’ve held off on writing this letter for several years. Perhaps my subconscious kept it reserved for a milestone as special as your 30th birthday, or maybe I wasn’t a good enough writer to do it justice (and I’m not necessarily suggesting I currently
[3 am] “Hi, welcome to Jack in the Box.” “Hi, yeah, could I get a—“ “Arvin?!” “Ummm…yes?” “Go ahead and pull around, baby. I’ll give you your usual order. It’s free tonight. You come here often enough.” — Overfamiliarity with scripture can be harmful. Feeling like we have a general idea of the high/lowlights of Biblical
When I keep my eyes open long enough, I catch a glimpse of Anxiety as he darts around the corner. I don’t call out to him, but follow him back to his house. I see him walk up several stairs and close the door behind him. I look around his neighborhood, here’s his address: Anxiety
There’s a certain kind of irony I love. It’s not the sarcastic kind. Pointing out something ironic in yet another cynical observation is the social equivalent of asking someone how much money their parents make. But when a story, fictional or not, folds over onto itself in a way I failed to predict, I’m overjoyed.
“No, we want to go with you to your people,” Ruth and Orpah respond. “Can I still give birth to other sons who could grow up to be your husbands? No…for I am too old to marry again. And even if it were possible, then what? Would you wait for them to grow up? No,
There was probably an impressive, expensive study done by professionals who never look at the prices on restaurant menus to help Wal-Mart determine where they should put their dressing rooms. I never want to meet them, but if I did, I’d have some decent feedback. “Look, I’m sure you told Wal-Mart to place dressing rooms
I’m still not allowed to speak english when I visit my parent’s house. My parents made sure that while my sister and I appreciated life in the US, we never lost our Persian culture—Food, Language, Manners, Music, etc. This felt like a burden, a torturous measure that accentuated how different I was from everyone else.