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Spot the Difference

I have freckles on my hands. The light ones that occur in smatterings, never just one or two. I am not a freckly person. My skin is uniformly tan. The freckles appeared three weeks ago, just as I was starting my new pastry chef job. I thought maybe they were an allergic reaction to the

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Uncomfortable Art

The screen dimmed. The credits began to roll. I let out a sigh and untensed my shoulders. Behind us, as moviegoers shuffled out through the rows, I heard dark, muttered comments and one loud “That was the worst movie I’ve ever seen!” We’d just seen “Sorry to Bother You,” a trippy, surrealist movie that starts

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Let The Outside In

I travel, and I change. Or I travel, and I I see the ways I’ve changed. Probably some of both. It’s been a month since I returned from a three-week sojourn in Europe, and I feel…different. My relationship with the space I inhabit has shifted. I say yes and embrace possibility more readily. Permanence and

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The Burden of Beauty

Alright listen up. I’m here to tell you why makeup is The Worst. Women are expected to wear it. Men are not. Makeup wipes. Squeezing a 0.2mm-thick line of eyeliner onto my tiny hooded eyelids. When all you want to do is rub your eyes but you can’t. “Are you tired?” Capitalism. Contouring is a

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Arrival

We’re all chasing something. There’s always a goal, just barely out of sight, in that mysterious place the sun disappears into at the end of the day. This elusive idea that if we do this thing, land this job, accomplish this task, meet these qualifications, we will have arrived…somewhere. My somewhere is a vaguely-defined place,

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