THE MEMORIST
The Memorist was born a June baby in 1982, in Karachi, Pakistan. A Jersey girl from the age of 1, she's lived in Europe and traveled around the world, making up obscure travel rules as she goes. In her spare time, she is a bibliophile (understatement of the year), a nerd, a dreamer, a nostalgist, a scribe, and a connoisseur of experiences.
About this Blog // My brain works like a mushy tangential Venn Diagram. Hilarity (sometimes) ensues. Please be patient while organization of my brain is under construction.
Tonight, I witnessed a mini-love story unfold at the local Starbucks. Nights like tonight, with odd weather and strange winds, crackle with an inexplicable energy, a strangeness so palpable, you can feel it ride in on the freak flash rainstorm that ends a streak of unseasonably warm weather in April. It is in the odd rolling fog and the flashes of light across clouds, like ancient gods communicating fate to one another over an expanse of sky that stretches over this patch of farmland. Continue Reading
Last week, this blog turned 1 year old. 1 year older, 1 year wiser. In so many ways, the blog has helped prep me for what already seems to be a year of incredible change.
Life has been strange these past ten years. The cusp of my 20′s never prepared me for the turmoil of my 20′s themselves. The cusp of my 30′s made me feel like I’m prepared for anything. Continue Reading
Dear Bookstore Corporate Executives,
Every once in a while, in the course human history, people do things that are the equivalent of shooting oneself in the foot. The British, and the Romans before them, having conquered half the world, overreached their authority and fell further than they had risen. Icharus with his wings of wax, reaching for the sun, was the first #fail. Grabby dictators wobble and crash off their perches, like Humpty Dumpty off his wall.
Let me let you in on a little secret: you’re next bookstore executives. Continue Reading
This is hardly the first time this blog talks about love. Nor will it likely be the last. Love is that mysterious thing, elusive and difficult to grasp, even when you’re in it and especially when you’re out of it.
But being that this blog is all about the past, present and future, about change and technology and ranges of intangible human emotion and ways in which they’re all connected, love and its ever-changing rituals (and therefore our ever-changing attempts to understand it) seemed an apt topic. Continue Reading
Science and I go way back. Take for instance my very first pick-up line.
In 5th grade, I had a crush on a boy with black hair, a widow’s peak, and freckles. I was tall for my age and he hadn’t had his growth spurt yet, but he’d thrown the ball to me in a game of classroom catch and we were friends. My limited 10-year-old understanding of romance said that this was meant to be.
I was a curious child – I asked a billion questions and knew my way around an Encyclopedia Britannica. So when my dad told me that yellow mucus indicates an infection, the information stuck. When, one day in class, the boy came to throw something out while I was blowing my nose at the trash can, I sought to dazzle him with science. I blew my nose, looked at the tissue, grinned at him and said “Look! My snot is yellow! That means I have an infection!”
(Epilogue to this story: despite his disgusted look and the fact that we never really became a couple, my approach to boys is the same as it was in 5th grade. I try to dazzle them with knowledge and then verbally push them over in sandboxes.)
Here’s the thing: most of the people I know end up choosing in life. They choose love or practicality, passion or comfort, fight or flight, the pull of one identity over another. And in most cases, they choose either science or religion.
But what if you’ve chosen not to choose? Continue Reading
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