I am not Black. I’m a Pakistani woman, born into a body and a world that understands struggle but not in the way Black women do in Western healthcare systems. This post is not about me—it’s about what I see, what I can’t ignore, and what I refuse to be silent about any longer.

Every May, Asian American and Pacific Islander (AAPI) Heritage Month rolls around—meant to honor the cultures, contributions, and stories of a vast and diverse community in the United States. But as a Pakistani-American, I’ve often found myself watching the celebrations and wondering quietly: where are we in all of this?

I don’t talk about this part of my life very often, but it’s something that’s shaped who I am—physically, emotionally, and spiritually. Chronic illness and trauma are deeply intertwined for many of us, and I wanted to share a piece of my story, not just for awareness, but to remind anyone reading that they’re not alone in the weight they carry. This post is a reflection on pain, healing, and the way our bodies hold onto the things we’ve survived.

A few months ago, after what seemed like a minor car accident, my 39-year-old sister began to experience some strange symptoms—neck pain that wouldn’t go away, dizzy spells, and a heavy pressure at the back of her head. An accident had caused whiplash, and at first, we thought the symptoms were just part of the recovery. But things didn’t improve. In fact, they got worse.

At exactly 5:10 PM, I opened an email that made me exhale a breath I didn’t even realize I was holding: Inkwell Imprints is now officially a registered LLC in Washington, DC. The approval letter came after a rollercoaster of forms, rejections, corrections, and confusion. But it’s done. I’m legal. I have the receipts. And I feel really damn proud of myself.

The car jolted to a stop, and I pressed my face against the cold window, my breath fogging the glass. The house loomed ahead, big and unfamiliar. It was a modern thing, too sharp and square for my liking, its grey bricks cold and unwelcoming. Elizabeth Cockwallace, the woman who brought me here, turned and smiled at me. It was the kind of smile you give a dog when you think it might bite but you’re trying to convince it not to. I didn’t trust it.

It sounds like the start of a dystopian novel: Earth is running out of oxygen. But this isn’t fiction — it’s a real scientific projection by NASA’s Nexus for Exoplanet System Science (NExSS) and researchers from Toho University. Their latest study suggests that Earth’s atmosphere will eventually lose the ability to support complex life. The countdown has already begun.

So, I finally did the thing—I officially registered Inkwell Imprints as an LLC in Washington, D.C. It’s something I’d been putting off for a while because, let’s be honest, legal stuff can be super intimidating. But it was surprisingly doable, and I wanted to break down the process in case it helps anyone else thinking of making their business official.

There’s a conversation people like to avoid when it comes to literature, and I’m tired of letting it slide. Racism ruins literacy. It doesn’t just exist in the “bad old books” from a century ago — it’s still creeping into modern writing, poisoning the experience for readers who just want to escape or feel something real. And every time I see it, it feels like a punch to the gut.

I picked up a copy of Monster by Walter Dean Myers at a thrift store the other day. I hadn’t seen it since high school—senior year, to be exact, when my teacher Mrs. Allgood assigned it. I remember reading it and feeling gutted. I was the same age as the main character, Steve Harmon, and the story felt too real for comfort even then. Reading it now, in 2025, knowing what I know about the world, it’s not just heartbreaking—it’s infuriating.

So apparently, the U.S. military is planning a massive parade in D.C. on June 14th, which also happens to be Donald Trump’s 79th birthday. And let’s be real—this isn’t some humble tribute to the Army’s 250th anniversary. This is a self-serving ego fest for a man who’s done nothing but disgrace the office he once held. I read the article on Hindustan Times and honestly, it made my blood boil. Why are we entertaining this nonsense?

     I recently watched a short segment of Oprah talking about menopause, and it honestly floored me. She shared that she experienced heart palpitations for two years, and not a single doctor ever mentioned it could be linked to menopause. It wasn’t until she read a book on the topic that she realized what was happening to her body. That’s terrifying—especially coming from someone like Oprah, who has access to some of the best healthcare in the world.