Michelle Risa

“Understanding when to speak on an issue and when to listen and learn is an invaluable skill I continue to hone. At times, people treat me like an opinion vending machine, asking me what I think about their favorite television show or a politician running for office or a recent calamity, as if opinion writing is merely emotional utterance rather than a practice that requires care and consideration.”
― Roxane Gay, Opinions: A Decade of Arguments, Criticism, and Minding Other People’s Business

“She always kissed one as if she were sadly and wisely sending one away forever.”
― Willa Cather, My Ántonia

“I am often interested in identity politics. That phrase is often weaponized to dismiss the concerns and lived experiences of marginalized people. It is used to derail conversations about how identity shapes the way we move through the world and the way the world moves through us. It is an accusation that implies that we can somehow separate ourselves from the very things that contribute to who we are. It implies that we can’t both acknowledge and embrace our identities and be part of a broader community. To decry identity politics, to suggest you are not political, that you are simply human before anything else is, in fact, an identity politic. And that in itself interests me, as one of the ways that people can so utterly lack self-awareness while denying the lived experiences of everyone different from them.”
― Roxane Gay, Opinions: A Decade of Arguments, Criticism, and Minding Other People’s Business

“ACID In Jakarta, among the venders of flowers and soft drinks, I saw a child with a hideous mouth, begging, and I knew the wound was made for a way to stay alive. What I gave him wouldn’t keep a dog alive. What he gave me from the brown coin of his sweating face was a look of cunning. I carry it like a bead of acid to remember how, once in a while, you can creep out of your own life and become someone else — an explosion in that nest of wires we call the imagination. I will never see him again, I suppose. But what of this rag, this shadow flung like a boy’s body into the walls of my mind, bleeding their sour taste — insult and anger, the great movers?”
― Mary Oliver, Dream Work