To me, Lifetime movies were like fables: fantastical two-hour tales that imparted important morals to live by.

I am immersed in words. But in a place where I don’t speak the language, all that evaporates and I am reborn as inadequate, defective.

We never used the label “refugee” in our family. Perhaps because the word is insufficient for the story.

I want to know what happens when there is no ending, when Mr. Right remains elusive.

I hate that I love the Ace. I hate that I love it while also feeling inadequate within it.

As much as they sought to swallow the ghosts of history, their eyes remained curiously trained toward home.