Notes from July, 2026

A fascinating speculation of what it means to shatter the lens of nationalism and look at communities without borders. The reading list at the very end is some great speculative fiction recommendation.

I wonder if our attachment to the structure and container of America constrains our imaginations from envisioning what could actually bring those ideals to life. Humans organize to take care of each other and the ecosystem of which we are part and on which we depend. Society is born of mutual need.

The United States’ sovereignty is demonstrated by armed guards at an arbitrary border. The specific mythology of this country’s “freedom” is built on the illusion of agency imparted by independence, self-reliance, and hard work (why’s it always gotta be hard?).

We occupy a geography that’s been designated as America. We are impacted by it, but no one lives in America. I live on my block, among my neighbors and the people I see at the grocery store and the gym.

The project of Nationalism is to narrow the radius of empathy: to put rails that make us look inward for both the mundane and the muse, to change the name of the feeling of comfort from solidarity to security, to constrict us where we should be growing.

Two songs that remind me of freedom:

• Roobaroo
• I Wish I Knew How It Would Feel to be Free

A compilation of ghost stories and their remarkable convergence in South Asia:

Despite coming from different countries, languages, and faiths, many of the stories were almost identical; the same woman appeared on lonely roads, the same backwards feet exposed the supernatural, the same unexplained fever arrived the next morning. It was as though our ghosts had ignored Partition, borders, and passports long before we ever crossed them ourselves.

My South Asian ghost story was similar. We'd be driving, as we often did, from Bombay down south, either towards Kerala or Bangalore, and there'd always be the aatma. I remember the aatma of Tumkur, a woman in white that appeared in the horizon in the darkness, slowly and gracefully. She'd always be askung for a lift, politely. But you don't stop, because if you do, she will possess you, she will kill you. You know, the usual.

I find this story to be at such odds with the way we think about community in India. If someone needs help, you help them. Perhaps the tale here is a reflection of how we show up with otherness (being sufficiently far from our close community) and obscurity (when nobody is watching).