The Storm We Made

by Vanessa Chan

Jujube wondered about the ways in which girls and women performed for men by always knowing what it was men wanted and how it was they wished to be comforted, always engaged in the ongoing calculus of figuring out what sides of themselves they should show to a man and which parts of their grief were too unbearable for him.

Here is a man who allows us to give voice to the things we know we should be ashamed of but don’t want to be ashamed of. Cecily wondered at the damage that would do to one’s soul, to allow others to chip away at you, past the layers of defense, to gain acceptance.

She met the face of a secret she had considered long dead.

There was no god who would let them live like this, focused each day only on trying not to die, while their oppressors were allowed the dignity of hope.

Enslavement did not just mean different-colored people buying and selling each other. Your enemy looking like you—recognizing yourself in your enemy—made it so much worse because it mirrored back to you all the darkness you held.