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BERKELEY'S NEWS • DECEMBER 03, 2022

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The Weekender

Page 5 of 158

One day after arriving in the West, my mom and her sister sat crying in the aisle of a grocery store. Their father had given them the choice to select a piece of candy from the confection aisle. They saw a life they missed out on for over a decade — a life filled with choice, contained in those colorful bits of sweetness. 
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One day after arriving in the West, my mom and her sister sat crying in the aisle of a grocery store. Their father had given them the choice to select a piece of candy from the confection aisle. They saw a life they missed out on for over a decade — a life filled with choice, contained in those colorful bits of sweetness. 
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The garage lies in shambles before me, and I can see myself lying in the rubble — just another victim of the collapse. Just another victim of my insistence on zeroing in on the bad and never on the good.
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The garage lies in shambles before me, and I can see myself lying in the rubble — just another victim of the collapse. Just another victim of my insistence on zeroing in on the bad and never on the good.
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Some days of the year are for dark / Colors. Mahogany pillars / And emerald green turtlenecks.
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Some days of the year are for dark / Colors. Mahogany pillars / And emerald green turtlenecks.
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Somehow I've wrestled free from the 21st century and stepped into another world. What hits me at once is that this choreographed reunion with the past is aesthetically driven; I find myself in a kind of time warp marked by colonial gazebos, iPhones, Charleston dance-offs and a picnic of props where I never lose the sense that I’m in a decade-limbo, never really fully in one time or another.
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Somehow I've wrestled free from the 21st century and stepped into another world. What hits me at once is that this choreographed reunion with the past is aesthetically driven; I find myself in a kind of time warp marked by colonial gazebos, iPhones, Charleston dance-offs and a picnic of props where I never lose the sense that I’m in a decade-limbo, never really fully in one time or another.
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Inspired by Italo Calvino’s “The Castle of Crossed Destinies,” seven of the Weekender’s staffers came together to write short pieces based on the same set of five tarot cards.
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Inspired by Italo Calvino’s “The Castle of Crossed Destinies,” seven of the Weekender’s staffers came together to write short pieces based on the same set of five tarot cards.
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We got our own place, sold all their furniture — 60 dollars of cash that we left lying behind the toaster. I don’t even have curtains, our neighbors can look inside. But I don’t mind, all they’d see is us gabbing at night.
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We got our own place, sold all their furniture — 60 dollars of cash that we left lying behind the toaster. I don’t even have curtains, our neighbors can look inside. But I don’t mind, all they’d see is us gabbing at night.
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Rocks spend much of their time muttering inwardly when things bump into them. They take careers as linguists, English teachers and mathematicians. They write lists of rules and expect others to follow them.
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Rocks spend much of their time muttering inwardly when things bump into them. They take careers as linguists, English teachers and mathematicians. They write lists of rules and expect others to follow them.
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From a small Russian village to the bustling streets of New York, my great-grandmother had introduced the next generation into the world. This was a world safe from the vile antisemitism of 1900s Europe and a place where immigrants could create a life worth living. 
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From a small Russian village to the bustling streets of New York, my great-grandmother had introduced the next generation into the world. This was a world safe from the vile antisemitism of 1900s Europe and a place where immigrants could create a life worth living. 
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They’d bought shoes. They put an advertisement in the paper the next week. But they didn’t need the money, really.
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They’d bought shoes. They put an advertisement in the paper the next week. But they didn’t need the money, really.
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The future is written in that bowl, sugar-cream topographies of the soul. 
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The future is written in that bowl, sugar-cream topographies of the soul. 
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