It is ten thirty in the morning. I take the sieve from the kitchen drawer. The handle feels familiar to my fingers and palm I am reminded of the other times I've used my skills for the various people I hold dearly. Flour, clove, cinnamon, nutmeg, and allspice fall through the holes of sieve and into a metal mix bowl. The mixture merges with butter, sugar, eggs, and pumpkin. I hear mom on the phone talking to my brother in Spanish as I am chopping bars of dark chocolate to pou

Among the pumpkins, beneath the autumn sky, I held my little boy’s hand as the moments passed by. The world felt softer, the air felt sweet, With golden leaves and dirt beneath our feet. Pumpkins resting in rows on the ground, Little joys and laughter all around. The smell of warm food drifting through the air, And for a little while, nothing else mattered there. Then came the train, so little and slow, Carrying us through a world painted gold. With my son beside me, watching

I wake up in the morning just like any normal person does. My alarm blares at 6 am, and I hit snooze, naturally, cause girl, let’s be so real right now. There is absolutely nothing I need to be doing at six in the morning. Eventually I drag my fat ass out of bed, walk to the bathroom before I have even brushed my teeth. Fifteen minutes have passed. Just me, standing in front of a mirror. Now, you might think I'm admiring myse

Burial of the Dead, 1609–1610 Oil on canvas by Sidney E. King The season of Thanksgiving is full of ushy-gushy sentiments about things like loving one’s family and appreciating the unique pleasure of getting to know one’s dear friends, but there are more important topics to consider—can you survive in an unknown wilderness? In this seventh issue of Delectable Discourse, where I ask college students a scrumptious new question each month, I asked the following: If you were one

Growing up, I remember my mom always warning my sister and me about Black Widows. She made it out that they were under every dark spot in my backyard. I was made to believe that they were out to get my sister and me and that they wanted to come and attack us. Coupled with their inhuman-like appearance and eight legs, this led to me developing a legit fear of spiders. I would tell people at my elementary school, “Yeah, I'm afraid of spiders,” and I always felt a little proud o

When I was quite young, I thought the clouds were created by the billowing smoke drifting out of factories, supplying the world with all sorts of things. These plumes looked like clouds and acted like clouds, so why would they not be clouds? A similarly misinformed conclusion, I was confident for some time that the world existed in black and white up to about 1960, informed by my only insight of the period being through black and white movies. One more: before I knew that fac

“Oh, it’s nice to see that your generation is not as lazy as we thought.” I’ve got to ask, “What is with people nowadays?” . . . I am sorry, but please explain to me why people think they can come up to you and say things like that. If you are wondering where my example comes from, it was the old lady at the Vons in Clovis . . . Like, really, I'm over here picking out deodorant, and you decide that was the perfect time to tell me. Like, come on, lady, there is a time and plac

When the month of October hits, the sky goes cold, the clouds turn into coal, and emotions start to dim. This is known as the “season of the witch.” Halloween to most is not a positive celebration but rather seen as a glory to the devil and other hidden spirits which we do not see. People believed that on October 31st, the distance between the living and the dead grew shorter, which allowed the underground spirits to roam free on earth and haunt the living. In many religions,

This past summer, I took an introductory certification course focused on freediving in Monterey, California. Freediving is the act of diving underneath the surface and only returning once you run out of breath. It's like scuba diving without all the clunky gear, on only a single breath. Your success in this sport is heavily dependent on your ability to calm down and clear your mind, since your heart rate needs to be as low as possible in order to conserve oxygen. This is thec

In the summer of 2025, I took a month-long trip throughout Europe, taking trains through eight different countries. On one of the final days of my time there, I found myself sitting in a Barcelona Taco Bell, directly across the street overshadowed by the towering la Sagrada Familia cathedral of famed architect Antonio Gaudí. As I write this, I am reminded of the guilt I felt in that moment. Although, at the time, I could not place exactly the nature of it. Now, though, I unde

With the recent allegations made toward Ceasar Chaves, I feel it is important to have a discussion on survivorship and the culture of protecting abusers. For a long time being a survivor, to me, meant being vigilant and untrusting of others, especially old men. It meant being afraid of my own family, and it meant being quiet. I have seen the criticisms Dolores Huertas has gotten for only now speaking up about the abuse she suffered. But I know why; it is the same reason I was

The pinch behind my scapula transcends, infecting my shoulder, climbing up my neck, and settling in my ear bones, where a post-apocalyptic and dystopian playlist regulates my brain. I’ve been busy. It’s been a month since I’ve sat for hours at my desk, reaching my right arm forward and hunching over. It’s difficult to sit and write for more than one hour, but I’ve written 500 words so far. Adjusting my red pajamas riddled with white poke-a-dots and pulling at the neck of my u