Pens. Lots of them. My grandfather, Jiddo Jamil, loved to collect pen and to receive and give them as gifts. Whenever I took him to the...

Tunis, Tunisia 11-28-2024 It was my last night in Tunis, a city in a country I fell in love with. The people were genuinely good and...

I sat on the grass as the rain poured over me. Hard. It’s that time of year in Tampa when rain pours every single day. Each drop fell to heal a different wound -- wounds so deep I had forgotten they existed. Wounds I carried. Wounds the earth carried. Stories merged into one vast web: my stories and others’. Salty and unsalted drops ran down my face.  I was cleansing in the rain for God knows how many times in two years. This cleanse, however, was different. It wasn’t sitting at rock bottom...