Welcome to my writing portfolio. I focus on travel memoir, reflective pieces, and critical essays. Enjoy!
All in Travel
By the end of the review, I wasn’t sure whether the meeting had assuaged my parents’ fears or heightened them. Still, I couldn’t dredge up an appropriate amount of self-concern. I itched to be released, to discover and to explore.
Pressed against the window, journal in hand, I had decided that once we arrived in Lagos, I would eat suya first, followed by fresh plantain. I would ask Mommy to buy local fabrics and I would dress like a native.
She arranged her lips into a pout. She waited, looking at me like a child pleading for ice cream. This was all becoming too much. I had a right to say no. I had a right to be tired of the whole thing.
The house sits at the end of a tiny, half-concealed road in Rio de Janeiro’s Cosme Velho neighborhood. Daddy knocks on the door. We are greeted by a smiling middle-aged woman.
My friend informs me, without much preamble, that Germans don't laugh. We pause in front of our dorm’s entrance. Just as I begin telling him how silly he sounds, my thoughts turn to the gentle, quick-witted boy a few doors down from me.
