Think About This
Art by Kirsten Hemrich
February 14, 2020
I spent 20 days alone while abroad this summer, during which time I had ample opportunity to think about reading; I spent more time thinking about reading than actually reading. I read a lot, between 75 and 100 books per year. I also perform reading a lot, posting almost as many pictures of books on Snapchat and Instagram for no discernible reason. My obsession with books peaked in my first and second years of college, during which time I authorized that vacuum of a non-narrative (
November 14, 2019
The silver metallic ink may have faded a bit, but the words are still clearly visible: “For Abby ~ Travellin’ Music.” The precisely formed letters immediately evoke visions of sentences diagrammed on whiteboards, answer keys created together and shared, a teaching partnership of mutual encouragement and competition. Decades later, I wonder if either of us would have gone so far without those shared years. I suspect we would have—we were (are) both driven—but my journey would have lacked a
Art by Kirsten Hemrich
October 24, 2019
A few weeks ago, I was kneading bread and thinking about capitalism.
I spent fall break with my family and, over the course of a full day, took over the kitchen of my parents’ house to finally perfect my execution of the babka, an Eastern European sweetbread that has recently become InstaFamous. With clinical precision, I measured out cups of flour, feeling a stupid thrill go through me after I poured a packet of
Art by Kirsten Hemrich
October 24, 2019
As October rolls into motion at UVA, I’m reminded of all the reasons my heart soars when the seasonal clock strikes fall. Yellow leaves on Rugby Road outline the branches they dare to escape from, and Lawn rooms stacked with firewood hint at wiggling toes against crackling fireplaces. The air tastes fresh like bus stop breaths on elementary school mornings and feels crisp like a farmer’s market apple. I’ve always been partial to fall. If the seasons were cups of porridge, I think it’s safe
Art by Kirsten Hemrich
October 24, 2019
Ten Years Old. Before even walking into the store, I am hit by the scent of Abercrombie & Fitch “Fierce” wafting into the mall. My fifth-grade mind had learned to associate this smell with attractive men shirtless on the beach, and preppy clothing galore. The smell of cardamom and citrus becomes even more pungent as I enter, my eyes adjusting to the dim lighting and taking in the upbeat pop music. It’s the definition of sensory overload. Before the obnoxiously attractive guy at the door
Art by Kirsten Hemrich
October 24, 2019
You will be asked one question when your house drops in Oz.
“Are you a good witch or a bad witch?”
Witches’ allegiances are straightforward in The Wizard of Oz (1939). It’s safe to assume that green-faced women commanding monkey armies will steal your shoes and kill your dog, while human Peeps who travel in pink bubbles and sing to munchkins will, well, not. Every child knows “only bad witches are ugly.”
Outside of Oz, as the 1975 clusterfuck Monty Python and
Art by Kirsten Hemrich
October 24, 2019
you did not make it quick.
There was no knife to scrape my bones,
—no knife to puncture my flesh,
It was bruises, it was blue, it was black,
It was ugly.
My wounds sank deep, pinning me in my plot
They twisted my insides, turned my stomach to stone.
jagged rock jutting from flesh,
Not marble—nor onyx, but coarse, unsightly grey.
The crudeness, the cruelty of my body hidden.
For I am murdered!—yet you
Art by Kirsten Hemrich
October 02, 2019
My nickname in my friend group is “the emotional toilet.” Not really the most glamorous of nicknames. Essentially it refers to my tendency to become someone for the people in my life (mostly men) to vent to and drop their emotional baggage on without expecting the favor to be returned. I’ve always prided myself on being a good listener and trying to help people solve their issues. Being needed can be addicting sometimes, but there’s a fine line between helping someone and trying to “fix”
Art by Kirsten Hemrich
October 02, 2019
Redheads, of course, are not like other girls. In literature (and just maybe in life), red hair is an encoded promise to deliver the heroine from standard girlhood; it guarantees a life worth telling, implying that most girls’ are not. Redheaded heroines are witty, undaunted, independent, and bold, qualified for narrative-worthy lives which “other girls” can’t access. She is the one whom the billionaire will adopt (Little Orphan Annie) or whose estranged parents will reunite after she meets
Art by Kirsten Hemrich
October 02, 2019
As I begin my journey into womanhood, I find things such as starting a family crossing my mind more and more. I think: When do I want to start having children? How many do I want? How much time does that give me to plan my own life and career?
I have always loved children, and I’ve always looked forward to the—very far—day I will begin having them. Most of the time when I ask myself these questions, it’s for fun. I have no serious inclination to have children any time soon, and