Pickles Taught Me the Art of Self-Preservation
I was not suspended in a timeless brine like my pickles. I was not a stoic javelin of cellulose waiting to strike a bored palette. My answers would not be in rigidity, in control.
what did I come here for?
Tell me your secrets. Teach me permanence, how to bear hardship, how to nourish people in lean times. Make me too sour for defeat, give me a chilled and quiet strength.
Maybe I’ll cut it next week,
Enter your email address to receive notifications for author Ash Huang
Confirmation link sent to your email to add you to notification list for author Ash Huang
More in this series
On the gendered aspect of conversion disorder, how it might have historically manifest in nuns and mystics, and the strange comfort of being diagnosed.