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Ubers & Tattoos

 A video journal on hope and strange encounters.


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Home For A Stranger | Thoughts on Belonging

“What should young people do with their lives today? Many things, obviously. But the most daring thing is to create stable communities in which the terrible disease of loneliness can be cured.” Indianapolis, IN The Indianapolis skyline sits in a vast bed of pink pushing down on blue, and I’m caught in the sunset, in the liminal space between night and day, clinging to the fleeting warmth of the sun as the moon crushes down on me. A lanky, excitable man on the cusp of middle aged sits down on a tree stump with his daughter and points to the escaping sun and its casted light over the skyline with a childlike wonder exceeding that of his daughter’s. “Look at it, look how beautiful it is!” he kept repeating, and I was left to wonder if I could see the city, see the sunlight the same way he did. John Green once said that the reason he loved Indianapolis was precisely because it wasn’t easy to love. You had to stay here a while to see it’s fruits. The problem is, my hometown was so easy for ...
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quarantine, for the asymptomatic

it's the most potent form of missing out it's blocking out the laughter echoing from outside your window it's hearing phone calls detailing the day you missed it's perfect plans without you it's seeing the birds hop jovially through the only patch of land i know it's begging to be back at the place you longed to leave just last week it's seeing my father's location and missing him dearly because i suppose all i really want is to not be a stranger
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"Why Are You So Quiet?" - A Reflection On My Introverted Childhood

“ Why Are You So Quiet? ” “Why are you so quiet?” My five year-old self lifts my head from the Cinderella coloring book I was intensely focused on to meet the excited, bulging eyes of my kindergarten class clown. Even then it dumbfounded me that someone with the social skills to charm an entire class with his witty remarks could simply not comprehend that his endless gregariousness was not a universal trait. Back then I didn’t think much of it, although I did find it odd that my preference for coloring over social interaction was an unsolvable mystery, requiring constant questioning from the finest five year-old detectives that the Indianapolis Public School system had to offer. My quietness was a brandishing, and I realize now it was all they saw of me. --- “She needs to talk more.” My eight year-old self sits patiently, hands folded tightly under my desk, at the annual parent-teacher conference. I was at the top of my class, I never turned in a late assignment, and I was reading high...
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