permission - by larissa pham - intimacies
I wasn’t always a writer, or I mean, I didn’t always think I’d be one. Whether I thought of myself as someone who writes—that’s different. But I was always a good student, and for a long time, everyone wanted me to be a scientist. I liked most of it, the math and the pipettes, the deep, marveling detail of how the world worked. I liked the metaphors of chemicals and acids interacting, the way a cell’s membrane selectively repels water, though I didn’t understand how the proteins of a cell could
I wasn’t always a writer, or I mean, I didn’t always think I’d be one. Whether I thought of myself as someone who writes—that’s different. But I was always a good student, and for a long time, everyone wanted me to be a scientist. I liked most of it, the math and the pipettes, the deep, marveling detail of how the world worked. I liked the metaphors of chemicals and acids interacting, the way a cell’s membrane selectively repels water, though I didn’t understand how the proteins of a cell could want anything—it wasn’t want the way a human wanted, or even the way an animal did. Anyway, it…
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