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RUMMANIYEH
I remember a woman hovering over her olive-wood-fashioned board, buried under fresh pomegranates and eggplants for the preparation…
Beirut: On Weathering Wars
Beirut often feels like a ghost town. Streets that used to be lined with party-goers and late-diners are…
The Ghost of My Grandfather
أعاتبُ طيفهُ إن لم يزرني لعل الطيف أوعى للعتابِ “I chide his specter if he doesn’t visit…
Essay two: Excelling as Defiance: The Early Life of Doria Shafik
I began my journey into the life of Dr. Doria Shafik more than three years ago. Throughout these…
Like eating soup with a fork
I do not have autism. I am autistic. Autism is not an illness, like the flu, nor is…
The Masculine Codex
“You’re very brave for coming here,” the white woman standing next to us keeps saying. She is like…
Arrows of Mata
Mark Essex’s campaign of terror against the New Orleans police climaxed on Jan. 7 in an 11-hour rampage…
The Hands Know First
I. The First Scar The first scar is still there. Faint now, but I can find it without…
The Invisible Horizon
It was supposed to be a routine overnight bus to Quetta—until it wasn’t. We were returning from visiting…
Reverse Light
Another small, disembodied limb showed up on my feed. This one was wearing a Hello Kitty sock but…