My Dadi’s Thanksgivings: A personal essay

Ever since my grandma was put on a ventilator this past August, I’ve been keeping a list of things on my phone to tell her once she comes home. Naive and hopeful, the list initially consisted of a few clipped bullets, hastily written whenever I thought of her.
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Photo essay: The road to recovery

Most people are afraid of growing old. Subconsciously lingering in the minds of many is the fear of inevitable physical aches, pains, and especially the possibility of diminishing memory.
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Color me orange, grandma

Man Under Bridge

My grandma has her first scotch around noon. She’s not an alcoholic — her first scotch normally lasts for a few hours. But it’s warm in Huntington Beach, and why not take the edge off with some Johnny Walker and a few ice cubes? She wears orange on St. Patrick’s
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