Who “I” am is entangled with a host of others, not just other humans and their stories, transnational production processes, institutions of power, but also clusters of other-than-humans, including other animals, bodies of water, lands, and even inorganic elements such as viruses. “I” am vulnerable and plural because the border of my skin is porous and because in my psyche are lodged the thoughts and ideas of others.
I am not homeless in the literal sense and I don’t have the language to describe the home for which I feel intense longing. Terrene, waves, raindrops, bark, foundation, walls, roof, pen strokes on a page, flick of the tongue, tightening of lips, closure of the vocal chords, intimacy, trust, embrace, connection.
I think of all the times as a child my mother has sent me over to the neighbour’s with a bag of garlic, when they asked for just a clove. These acts of care, mercy, and consideration have been happening under society’s collective radar.
Chia buồn is how one expresses condolences in Vietnamese. Instead of my thoughts are with you or sorry for your loss, the term literally means to divide (chia) sadness (buồn). If only I could have invited others to hold pieces of my shattered heart when Ông Nội died...
Someone has cut the brakes on modern life. Car doors slam and trolleys scramble. The lips and nose of strangers are covered by a blue screen. Behind closed doors the bombardment of news stories causes the heart to panic. It feels as though the ground has been pulled...
Traditional Iranian dishes take hours to make. Each family has their own recipes and preferences passed down from previous generations experimenting in the kitchen, but I did not grow up in a culture that allowed for time to be spent making food, unless you were...
“Memories and Where to Keep Them” is the honourable mention for Room’s Creative Non-Fiction Contest 2020. Before my mother left, when my mind was still small and pink like two fists held together, we saw a miracle in the sky. I was still allowed outside then. Whenever...
The first emotion I remember feeling was anger. Then anxiety. Then determination. I was in Toronto, attending a concert with a friend I had met online years earlier. It was the first time that we had occupied a public space together in person; the first time I could...
After the tragic deaths of George Floyd, Breonna Taylor, Ahmaud Arbery, and Rayshard Brooks—unarmed African Americans killed by white police officers—the protests that followed, and all in the midst of the COVID-19 pandemic, the time for a global reckoning for...
What else did Barthes write? I cannot decipher you because I do not know how you decipher me. I learn to pull the signified from the mouths of other women who once looked like me. I learn to pour water from one vase into another heirloom. There is the slight residue...
ROOM 47.2 Seedpod
“Maple keys are built by nature like helicopter blades, which allows them to propel as far as possible from the mother maple… In these pages, we see the brave, touching, true ways we, too, must embrace the fear and the excitement that comes with leaving where we are rooted.”
ROOM 47.2 UTOPIA
Join Room and Augur in the gleaming, unwritten future with our utopia issue. Featuring new poetry by Larissa Lai and an interview with Whitney French.
Seeking members who love literature, events, merchandise, and supporting marginalized creators.
Seedpod | 47.2
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Utopia | 47.1
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Fever Dream | 46.4
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Fever Dream Tote Bag — Limited Edition
Ghosts | 46.3
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