Feel free to listen to this while browsing through calligraffiti or reading about Middle Eastern politics and sipping some tea.
No, it had nothing to do with textbooks or biology class.
Disclaimer: The Tempest is not responsible for any nostalgic outbursts or severe binge-watching behaviors.
You know, for those long lines at Starbucks every morning.
I still remember the very first time I saw myself on television.
Turns out, our brains have a lot to do with how we conceptualize race.
Every time someone posts a bad poem and says it's magical, a piece of me dies.
It's weird that American Girl hasn't even taken notice of us yet.
Before 1952, picking your race in America meant being either black or white.
I often forget the boxes Amena is put in because I simply I see her as my Amena.
My memories of Syria look different than what you see on the news.
Anyone else relate to the mother freaking out about your love life?