The grief of losing your sense of self is like getting to Heaven and being upset they don't have your favorite flavor of La Croix

This is the first piece in years that I’ve written on Substack, for Substack, instead of on Twitter to be cross-posted here after the fact. There are several reasons for this: one being that it is the most personal one I’ve written to date and the public town square of Twitter doesn’t feel like the right place to put it, two being that it is the longest one I’ve written and I’m really pushing the limits of the long tweet format and the endurance of my followers’ thumbs, and three being that I no longer need to trick my brain into thinking I am composing a casual tweet to a group of friends in order to write. I will just say what I mean to say, without hiding behind plausible deniability or the assurance that my internet friends will receive my writing kindly. That is, after all, how I am choosing to live from now on: completely bare. This post was written while listening to champagne problems by Taylor Swift. I went on a meditation retreat a bit shy of two weeks ago. I say “went on,” b

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• Asma Lamgh
• Lam Pham