All I know of life is that it changes. These words, I have written but they can’t be written enough, battered into the daily slow pondering — — too minute to notice — — blink-and-you’ll-miss-it time passing life passing — in a second over, rebuilt in a lifetime that could last anywhere between a breath […]
It’s been a long time since I’ve written a blog, so let’s start with the spoilers: I’m still in Pakistan. In fact, in a twist of life that I still have yet to properly understand, I live here now. I have a flat that slowly becomes more of a home space every day, a motorcycle,
An American Dancer in Pakistan, Volume 8 Read More »
The 88 year-old man doesn’t say much. He considers each sentence carefully, his jaw slowly working. His face is fearsome and strong. He wears a traditional Pakistani tunic and trousers, with a yellow scarf carefully laid on his shoulders like a mantle. He drinks black coffee and smokes long cigarettes. The 88 year-old man speaks
The 88 Year-Old Man Read More »
One of my first memories of performing was being a bon-bon in the Nutcracker, one of the little kids that comes out from Mother Ginger’s skirt. I remember being backstage, lined up with the other bon-bons, with the blinding spotlights making the stage nothing but light, watching our leader go through her quick change from
Life Beyond “Happily Ever After” Read More »
