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… bedside conversations. We abolish spontaneity. We skip meals. We sit in rows at computers like drones, producing notes that lack flavor and … delicate bones, its spiral sac of fluid. At school I was obedient, creating color-coded study guides with perfectly …

… city of Arequipa. By the time I was a teenager, I had come to see Peru as a place where I could be someone else, … the heterodox Peruvian Marxist José Carlos Mariátegui in 1926. I was surprised to see Mariano’s name there—I knew … job at the Reuters Lima bureau. My father’s parents died when I was young, so I often called upon Jorge, my …

… he undergo multiple surgeries. His gaze was both discomfiting and magnetic, his eyes green and iron-flecked, as … “And the other man?” My seatmate sighed. The other soldier had some burning, damage in one eye. Minor injuries, … prescribed a low-dose steroid along with other pharmaceuticals. He told me to cut back on salt.  I gathered up the …

… Because leaving my birth country happened in Spanish and coming to terms with my sexuality happened in English … to speak and write in another language whose origin is also Latin might not have been enough. Said a different way: … to an inciting incident, navigate through different plot points and experience a climax?  Memories of my adolescence, …

… watched the crapshoot long enough to know all the various combinations on the dice. As their similar spellings might … a gift. Better people than you have gone without it. Age also means that I’ve lost enough friends and relations to … liberation, a gift for which one might willingly suffer and die.  To be an ordinary person with “nothing left to do” is, …