Seeing ClairBelle Clearly
At 103, my incredibly selfless grandmother, whom everyone knew simply as ‘Grandma,’ passed away. She had poured her life into caring for my two siblings, my disabled brother, my mother, husband, and me, always giving without a second thought. Yet, as I sorted through her things before her memorial, a hidden world emerged. I discovered a past brimming with adventures, the heartbreak of losing a newborn before baptism, and the tender WWII love letters my grandfather sent from the Philippines. It was then I saw her, not just as Grandma, but as ClairBelle—a beautiful woman who quietly carried her own profound, rich story. — Sarah Zulim
The Eve of a New Life
I coaxed a friend to a New Year’s party with the classic line: ‘You never know, you might meet the love of your life.’ Little did I know, my own future love was already there, leaning against a doorway, effortlessly cool in a blue shirt and a jade necklace. Fueled by a dash of liquid courage, I chatted up Amy and others. Our first date — complete with a septum piercing and swing dancing — revealed her impossibly cool facade was merely a sweet, cuddly dork in disguise. We missed the midnight kiss that New Year’s, but these days, I’m fortunate enough to greet them with a kiss almost every morning. — Kaanthi Pandhigunta
A Meditation on Separation
On one of summer’s last lingering days, before we left the playground, we stretched out on the grass, gazing at a boundless, cloudless sky. Soon, Nala perched herself on my lap, leaning back against my chest, her little head resting heavily on my collarbone, a delightful tangle of curls tickling my face. ‘Gettin’ cozy,’ she murmured. Her dimpled fingers found my cheeks. Above us, an airplane etched a long, disappearing dinosaur spine across the blue. ‘This is heaven,’ I whispered. She promptly corrected me: ‘Me not heaven. Me, baby. You, heaven.’ — Orah Dawn Levin-Minder
Animal Instinct
Long before we realized it, our dogs were already playing matchmakers. I’d wake to his Taiwanese rescue dog curled snugly at my feet, while he’d find my elderly Miniature Schnauzer breathing softly on his face. As housemates, we’d chat about our pets and our days, voices drifting across the hall from our separate bedrooms. I secretly hoped the distinctive teapot he’d brought me from China was a sign, but as his tenant in a cheerful, sunshine-yellow Victorian, the thought of jeopardizing my affordable rent was daunting. Yet, love prevailed. At our wedding, we symbolically burned my lease, and just eleven months later, that very first bedroom I called mine in San Francisco became our daughter’s. — Julie Zigoris
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