Anar, my love.

There is a story behind why the name of my favorite fruit rolls off my tongue in neither English nor Spanish.

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Marlene

It was on the special occasion of her last night in Rio de Janeiro. We were smashed up against the bar of a famous samba venue when two warrior women, exaggerating their merriment, disrespected the personal space of the Queen.

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The Untaken Frame

It was an honor to have the story of the picture I chose not to take to be selected by JAGGERY, the literay jounal of South Asia:

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On Mafia and Meditation

I saw how perfect and uniform all of the red fruit were, but I was more preoccupied trying to remember how many of them I would need for the various recipes I would exact. It might have been that same subliminal suspicion that had made me separate, but not read, an article on the global Italian and Chinese mafias for tomatoes.

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Hypocrisy today

There is a profound difference between religions that demand an allegiance to a single story and those that demand nothing

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