Snipers and watermelons

Snipers and watermelons

A small village called Cioburciu, on the banks of river Dniester, in the Soviet Republic of Moldova was where I spent every childhood summer until I was 11 years old, all three glorious months it, from early June to the end of August. We would stuff boxes and...
What do you want?

What do you want?

Around this time last year I wrote about not making any New Year’s resolutions. How it was, in fact, crazy that we became conditioned to make them at the gloomiest part of the year (I took the paywall off that post – you’re welcome to read it and share your own...
Goodbye, Instagram?

Goodbye, Instagram?

Several authors and creatives I follow recently announced, with fanfare, that they are leaving Instagram… only to confess in the next breath that they are, actually, just giving the keys to a member of a team who will still continue posting important updates on their...
Merry Christmas from Bethlehem

Merry Christmas from Bethlehem

I’ll start with a confession. I don’t celebrate Christmas. Not really. Hashtag awkward. I’m sure pretended to for years, in an effort to assimilate, to be like everyone else. But if I’m honest with myself, I don’t actually care all that much. I grew up in the Soviet...