Molly Fisk

I cannot really conjure up what it would feel like to walk into a store and not be welcomed.

The closest I can get to social discomfort in that way is remembering my freshman-year college essay class, in which I was the lone female among 25 students and a male professor, and pretty much ignored.

Ingredients Primary category in which blog post is published

Hemlock

Of Philosophical Deaths and Slowly Strangling Sheep

I should accept that this place has always been an island

After class, I walk toward the exit looking—like my students—not toward the future but at my phone’s screen.

The Wrong Kind of Good

On playing netball at school in South Africa