Just hours earlier, I was at one of the finest hotels in the city, handling celebrity talent at a Emmy Awards Gifting Suite.
There was the time when students laughed at me for wearing a head-wrap to class, and one teacher approached me and asked if I was wearing a Thai skirt on my head.
Some of the headlines you might have missed, neatly summarized.
How could someone believe in a god when there’s no hard evidence supporting his existence? That’s a question I’m asked more often than I care to think about.
There are millions of perfectly functioning, vibrant people out there who have been diagnosed with bipolar disorder.
I was prepared to find a little more trolling and negativity on my article than I’d originally received. What I was not prepared for, was to see my happy smiling face on a white supremacist website.
How do I broach this subject with a guy without turning them off?
Although I was Somali and Muslim just like everyone else, it seemed as though everything about me screamed “not from here."
It’s no more selfish or cowardly to suffer from depression—to be killed by depression—than to die from lupus.
My own attempts to challenge sexism within the sport have often been met with hostility. TRIGGER WARNING: descriptions of domestic and sexual assault.
Talking to people on Twitter about Mike Brown and what’s happening in Ferguson right now, I’ve noticed (again) how easily folks get distracted when Black people are murdered by the police.
Frequently, when people who know about my accident ask me if it hurts still, I deflect or spew platitudes and just say, “Oh, you know.” I don’t say that physical discomfort has been a near constant companion.
The problem with being anxious is that monotony is your only option.