The Sharp Edge of a Shell
“How will I know?” I asked my father before he died. “Talk to me like we are now and listen,” he said. Months passed. I was scared to talk to him. What if I didn’t hear him? On Father’s Day, running barefoot on the beach, I called out, “Dad?” The sharp edge of a shell sliced my foot. My father’s father was a podiatrist. My father was a poet who wrote endlessly about feet. He believed, “The soul is rooted in the foot.” Seven stitches, a beautiful scar. I feel hollow with loss, but my father is still with me. — Hannah Sward
“Where is Your Hair?”
I started losing my hair when I was just a teenager. I had thin hair. I knew I would be practically bald by age 25. Throughout high school and college in India, people routinely asked me, “Bhavik, where is your hair?” I didn’t have an answer. I hated myself because of the way I looked. Then, I met a woman. She said, “I love your bald look. Love yourself, Bhavik.” I am 31 now. I love my bold, nearly bald look, answering everyone’s question, “Where is your hair?” with the answer: “It’s with my wife and daughter.” — Bhavik Sarkhedi
