Why My Father Broke the Law, and You Would Too

My first Medium story, dedicated to the bravest man you…

Never regret where you came from 

Life’s a great story line

Finding my Father

My father died more than fifty years ago when I was a kid, but I continue to “look” for him. At times this search might have been pathological, such as returning as a young adult to our flat in London hoping to hear something from him or receive a sign. Perhaps I believed the walls could talk and…

Home is Where…

by Wilmary Rodriguez

Cherry Tomatoes

Abuelita’s advice

Cross-cultural Communications and Text Messaging

Mom, I’m only going to speak Vietnamese with you when we text message.

If you’re communicating with a loved one who speaks English as a second language via mobile devices, I…

Lost in Translation

My friend Catalina was trying to teach Spanish to her husband Paul.

My Very Innocent Guns

And the Myths that Move Us

I think a lot about guns and bombs and violence in general. One reason for this is that I was born into a bombed-out London scene, still in disrepair more than a decade after the Blitz. We played in bomb shelters. We…

An Allegory of Hands 

I heard someone, perhaps a weather forecaster, a phrenologist, or a seer of sorts, say “show me your hands and I’ll tell you your age.” The voice was talking about the effects of the sun and probably the moon.

(Pronounced as “swan-two”)

“Swan like the bird. Two like the number.”

If there was a shortcut key on my laptop to type this, I would use it daily.

A first generation Vietnamese born in the midwest region of the United States, it…