Smoking. Hot?
The slim tube of paper rests elegantly between my fingers—I can almost inhale a swirl of smoke emerging from it. ‘Are you going to eat that lollipop?’ my mother asks. I gingerly turn the sweet the right way round and suck on sugar instead of fictional nicotine (not that I am awa
Berlin, open city
In military terms, an open city is a city that has abandoned all fortifying efforts. Once a city has declared itself open, the opposing military will be obliged to peacefully occupy the city, rather than destroy it, under international law. As it happens Berlin is an open city,
“Never Go Back”: An Ode to Returning
Sat in my stuffy English classroom, with its chipped yellow wallpaper and alarmingly stained carpets, I read Carol Ann Duffy’s poem ‘Never Go Back’ for the first time. The name might ring a bell—most of us remember the onion metaphor, perhaps not so fondly, but there’s more to it than just
Maybe I’m an anti-intellectual
A year ago, a friend from home visiting Oxford took a deep breath after my new friends left the room. She said “you all speak really fast.” That “I’m on the last thing, and you’re onto the next. It’s all going over my head.” I was embarrassed. I realised only lat
Faltering
Words build up in my throat, sticky like caramel, to choke me. The tension spreads to my face as the backlog of muted syllables drives forward but doesn’t push itself through. My mouth contorts under the mounting pressure –I’m powerless. When the words eventually lurch out, past my tongue, tee
Voices from the Entr’acte
“You’re not performing femininity in a way that we can read onstage, so you’re failing at performing this,” says Aiden K. Feltkamp, recalling the rehearsal process for a scene from Rossini’s Barber of Seville. Feltkamp – a transgender non-binary writer based in New York City – trained
Grass Island
Guernsey was built to be on a postcard. Sand crocuses and sea thrift flowers carpet its long coastal dunes; thatched stone cottages with open shutters bask in its continental sun; yellow and pink bunting canopies its narrow, cobbled streets. It is a polite place. Road signs instruct vehicles to R
Our Mourning Ritual: Life after Death Online
Earlier this year, on Thursday the 26th of March, I attended my father’s funeral. At the reception I was approached by a man I had never met before. Once he introduced himself I instantly recognised his name, but couldn’t pin down where from. The name hung in the back of my skull. I suspected it
