“Black on white, stories are written, and in my case, cut. I invent cities, worlds and situations. They are memories, associations of words, ideas, observations and thoughts that unfold in improbable juxtapositions. Each observer makes his or her own story in this accumulation of real or imaginary lives to remember the past and foresee the future.”

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by Jody Alaine Lacson One day I worked in a unit for substance-induced psychotic and traditional psychiatric patients. I arrived at 7:45 AM. Suffering from insomnia the night before, I was sure I would be late. I felt like a zombie.

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by Churandai Duymum I got out of bed, stood up, and felt a trickle of water running down my legs. I thought it was urine. I made my way to the bathroom. It was not urine at all; instead it seemed to be clear water. I was twenty-three weeks into my pregnancy. I was having [...]

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by Laudine Kuhl I was born a “preemie,” 2 lbs. 2 oz., at St. Vincent’s Hospital in Manhattan. My skin was a reddish-grey color. My head fit into the palm of my mother’s hand and I was the length of my father’s hands put together. If I wanted my life so badly, I would have [...]

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by Tiffany Ochoa I handed the phone to Nick, and he yelled at her to talk clearly. Finally, Stephanie was able to tell us that we had to go to Brookdale Hospital because my best friend Tasha, Nick’s sister, had been shot.

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by Sergio Mauritz Ang They say, “Like father like son,” but that’s not true in my case. I was never like my father.

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