WRITING PORTFOLIO
Here you'll find a selection of some of my recent work. Click the link at the end of each preview to read the original published essay in its entirety.
I WAS LIVING IN MY CAR ON THANKSGIVING. THEN A VOLUNTEER AT A FOOD KITCHEN HELPED CHANGE MY LIFE.
HUFFPOST PERSONAL
November 23, 2022
Every year for the past several years, I’ve volunteered at food pantries in the Los Angeles area during the holiday season. When we all line up in the industrial kitchen armed with gloves, hairnets and ladles, the person in charge usually gives a speech about how we should treat the people we’re serving, most of whom are unhoused or close to it. “Many of them aren’t in a good state of mind,” we’re told. “We can’t imagine what it’s like to be in their position ― especially at this time of year.”
What they don’t know is that 18 years ago, I was in their position. I spent Thanksgiving in line at a food kitchen, with nothing to my name but a broken-down Honda hatchback, a shopping bag of clothes, and the friendship of an alley cat who had sort of adopted me. It was nice to feel wanted and important, even if it was only to a stray who was fighting as hard as I was just to stay alive.
THE LADY IN THE TENT
THE LOS ANGELES REVIEW OF BOOKS
April 1, 2021
I’m in line at the Brentwood farmer’s market waiting to buy organic kale and avocadoes (I realize at this moment that I’ve become one of those people) when I see her.
Most people don’t acknowledge the woman holding the sign, or her army-style utility tent—it has just enough room to lie on your belly and escape from the elements, like a soldier in the battlefield—nestled between two overgrown rose bushes. It’s spring and the bushes are starting to sprout pink roses, perky and beautiful, their petals open and ready for their coming-out party. But most people in this neighborhood don’t acknowledge the flowers, either—they’re too busy talking on the phone, packing their trunk with overpriced food, making happy hour plans, heading off to pick up their kids from private school. The life concerns of folks in a neighborhood like this.
When it’s my turn to pay, I throw in an apple, a bag of cashews, and an Evian. My car is parked near the lady in the tent. I assume her sign has something to do with food, and I prepare to hand her the apple, nuts, and water. But I’m wrong. Her sign doesn’t request food, or work, or even money. I squint to get a better look:
Click here to read the rest in the Los Angeles Review of Books.
WHY I DON'T HAVE A CHILD: I REFUSE TO PASS ON MY ADDICTION GENES
THE GUARDIAN
July 6, 2020
I’d heard this a dozen times from at least eight different relatives at our most recent family gathering as smoke poured from my oven. Each time, I told them I had everything under control and shooed them toward the makeshift bar I’d set up on a card table. Where there’s alcohol, there’s my family.
After what felt like just a few minutes of peace in my respite that was the kitchen, I heard the question I’d been hoping my diligent (fail at) cooking would protect me from “Hey, Krissy!” Uncle Billy hollered from across the room, a double whisky in his hand.
“What’re you, like, 38 now? When’s that man of yours finally going to knock you up?”
Then he stumbled into the hearth and the hem of his pants caught fire. The funny thing is, there were more eyes looking at me waiting for the answer than there were on Uncle Billy’s roasting jeans.
I WAS HOMELESS. NOW I’M GETTING A PH.D. HERE’S WHAT I LEARNED ABOUT LIFE ON THE STREETS
HUFFPOST PERSONAL
February 27, 2020
Most people, even some locals, don’t know it, but there’s a river in Los Angeles. It starts in the San Fernando Valley, cuts through downtown, and, 50 miles later, ends in Long Beach. The reason people don’t know about it is because it’s almost always dry and goes without notice. It looks like just another cement ditch and kids use it as a playground or as a canvas for graffiti.
Some adults use the riverbed as well, but for a very different reason: It’s their home because they have nowhere else to go. In fact, there are an estimated 60,000 homeless people in Los Angeles and the actual number is likely much higher.
Many unsheltered individuals and families were uprooted or even killed in an unthinkably devastating storm in December 2018 when the LA River flooded, though the local news failed to report on how the storm affected the homeless.
I remember driving by a stretch of the riverbed the day after the storm and seeing dozens of floating tents, camp stoves, shopping baskets and shoes ― there must have been hundreds of orphaned shoes. It might have been the first time the “vagrant problem,” as popular disc jockeys began calling it, became truly apparent to many Los Angeles residents, but it wasn’t new to me. Seeing all those images of broken lives created a second flood ― of memories.
BOB/O
THE MONTREAL REVIEW
October 11, 2019
"His name is Bobo."
My brother Bobby and I looked up from the Nintendo. Our parents had given us the new game console for Christmas, and we had been glued to the television set ever since. We were beyond obsessed with Donkey Kong Country. We spent our afternoons and weekends collecting bananas, swinging from vines, dominating the virtual jungle, and making bets about who would win the game first. I was convinced I would win by default because I was the oldest. Bobby said he would beat me because he was faster with the controller. The competition was fierce.
I punched a button and the animated gorilla was frozen in time, his massive hand ready to grab the next vine. Dad was standing in the doorway, a toddler-sized monkey clinging to the side of his rotund belly. The monkey's arms were wrapped tightly around his neck like a frightened child. I blinked, wondering if I was hallucinating. Maybe Dad was right - maybe playing too many video games really was bad for the eyes.