Dhaka: A distant dream
I slip right back into the chaos I was raised alongside, and it feels like a reunion with a childhood friend.
The devastating shades of intimacy after assault
On my worst days, any type of physical intimacy ends in hellish claustrophobia; I’m buried under layers of shame, wrapped in an endless cycle of revulsion at my body, and I can’t escape.
(Not My) Home: Musings of a Reluctant Immigrant
Despite all her flaws, Dhaka is still the home that loves with reckless abandon
Maa, all the things I’ve been silent about
Maa, all the things I’ve been silent about are all the things that could’ve saved me.
Intimate acts of violence
“Don’t let strangers touch you.” And yet it is seldom strangers, I learned long before I was a teenager, who do you harm.
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