Living in Pakistan has taught me that political change is not as sexy or dramatic as I had envisioned it as a teenager in suburban Dallas.
In winter the noise of the Lahore streets sounds different. It is clean and vivid.
There’s just a handful of airlines that still make it to Pakistan, so even the wealthiest of Jinnah International’s patrons have limited options.
Caught constantly between my open wounds pressed against sharp edges and my peeling skin, and her open wounds pressed against sharp edges and her peeling skin.
It didn’t just happen overnight, the neat, sarcastic packaging of my childhood misfortunes.
Death and life in Dubai’s vegetable market.
Paan is a substance that occupies a space somewhere between a snack and a drug — a space left vacant in the West.
Eventually, someone threw up. It might have been me.