An illustration of columnist Annalise Kamegawa.

Annalise: Can’t say ‘Goodbye’

It wasn’t love at first sight or outlandish romantic gestures. It was this slow percolation of a honey-scented breath, it was the color of red lipstick stains on someone’s neck, it was everywhere.
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An illustration of columnist Annalise Kamegawa.

Annalise: An art lover

At This Point

I begrudgingly drank a cup of coffee as I wondered what else to say. I didn’t want to hear about how he couldn’t find the glaring problems in this love story.
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An illustration of columnist Annalise Kamegawa.

Annalise: Still a kid

At This Point

Caught in the awe of the day’s events, I couldn’t help but worry that the pieces of this day — the pastel mountains, the van of childhood friends — would be the happiest ones of my life.
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An illustration of columnist Annalise Kamegawa.

Annalise: A friend of surrealist scenes

At This Point

All you can really do is sit in the darkness of her room, comb through her hair with your hands and hope that the Frida Kahlo cross on her wall that’s dangling from a thumbtack doesn’t come crashing down.
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An illustration of columnist Annalise Kamegawa.

Annalise: A hapa

At This Point

Every time I introduce myself, I hand over this thick Japanese last name, but I can’t help but feel like it’s a misnomer for my actual racial background.
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An illustration of columnist Annalise Kamegawa.

Annalise: A Newport girl

At This Point

Much of my childhood had looked like those exuberant Rococo era paintings from the 18th century, but replace the hoop skirts and powdered wigs with lululemon leggings and “natural” blondes.
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An illustration of columnist Annalise Kamegawa.

Annalise: A hypocrite

At This Point

Even though I have stopped writing, the inkjet-printed Barbara Kruger piece that I keep pinned on my bulletin board reminds me of the voice that I once had.
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