My Year Abroad: A Novel

Keep on singing, bromeo.

Most situations, as someone once instructed me, depend more on the style of entry than escape.

haole

opium bed

Val encounters life and persons as they come to her, this total acceptance of the fact that you’re here, that you belong to the space you’re taking up, that it’s all and only yours. A rare thing, IMHO. If you think about it, most persons, including many of those who say they love you, can’t help but question your particular coordinates in whatever

a semidiasporic postcolonial indeterminate like me

Jamesonian view of capitalism’s

the main thing you learn about yourself and everyone else toiling away is how much of your mental activity and chatter is about dreaming of doing something else, whether noble or debauched or downright silly.

“You have a business,” Pong said to me quite seriously. “You just don’t know what it is yet.”