“Crooked Teeth: A Queer Syrian Refugee Memoir” by Danny Ramadan

Danny Ramadan came to Canada as a refugee 10 years ago. Though the identity he assumed after this event is what gives its name to his new book, Crooked Teeth: A Queer Syrian Refugee Memoir, becoming a refugee is but a small part of Ramadan’s story. 

I first encountered Ramadan through his piece “Speak my Tongue” which appeared in the 2021 essay collection Tongues: On Longing and Belonging through Language. His essay was so striking that I became immediately fascinated with his voice. Reading his memoir was a reminder of the indelible impression his essay left on me. 

From BookTok to debut novel “Oxford Soju Club,” Jinwoo Park spreads the love of books and Korean literature

When South Korean President Yoon Suk Yeol suddenly declared martial law on the evening of December 3, 2024, the country plunged into uncertainty and chaos. Extraordinary images of Korean citizens congregating outside of the National Assembly building filled the news. Six hours later, thanks to the heroic efforts of lawmakers who protected the National Assembly and held a vote in the middle of the night rejecting it, Yoon’s martial law declaration was lifted. 

On TikTok, Jinwoo Park started releasing videos explaining the fast-moving situation, adding context and nuance to the news coming through regular media channels. The videos helped convey the shocking and historical nature of Yoon’s actions but also showed the deep connection Park maintains with South Korean politics, history, and culture. 

Monday Morning in Suburbia (new year edition)

I have tasted defeat. I am tasting it right now. 

It tastes like cold wax from burnt candles, hardened, sharp bits on your lips. 

I tried for four years. I tried to be more than I could dream of. I tried to have a single-line epitaph (“She wrote.”). But I failed. And the fire is all but extinguished. This is no way to start a year. But I am defeated. And I am tired. I am so tired. 

Please, do not bring God, or love, or children to this discussion. Do not bring any of that. Don’t tell me I’m ungrateful. Defeat is a solitary, wrenching conversation between abstract desires that only live in ephemeral form and have now disappeared. It has nothing to do with God, or love or children. 

To lose faith, to lose god, is one thing. To lose the fragile flame that flickers inside, to have it finally extinguished, is akin to a death. And there is no epitaph. 

A 21st Century Mom of One Tries to Write

After she had vacuumed the carpet and gotten on her knees with a stain remover, spraying freely on the dark spots, the little cloth foaming with her scrubbing. 

After she had taken out the organics to the big bin in the garage, wiping the wet spot the paper “Bag to Earth” had left on the counter. 

After she had filled up the dishwasher, put the detergent in, and turn it on. 

After she had done the other dishes by hand, sprayed a bleach cleaner into the sink, and cleaned, dried, and put away a whole miscellanea of utensils and kitchen stuff.