This feels like a really delicate thing to write about. These words let you see inside the world of Kate in a way that feels exposing and scary and deeply vulnerable. But I don’t think I’m alone here, so, dear friend, if you’ll give me the space, I’ll try to tell my...
I was 14 years old when I first remember looking pain and injustice in the eye. I was staring into the face of a girl laying in a Romanian orphanage crib. She had a mop of curly brown hair on her head and tiny bones. Her deep brown eyes seemed vacant until she heard...
Last week I was invited to a space I had no business being in. It was an honor.It was a privilege. It was humbling. I made sure to take off my shoes before I walked into the friend of my friend’s home partly because of culture and partly because of...
I relished the silence. On this particular day, business in Braverly was slow. A few customers trickled in and left with drinks to go which meant my only distraction was the smell of freshly baked bread coming from the kitchen. Outside, thunder rumbled in the distance...
On Sunday we piled into the back of trucks and squeezed as many people as possible inside where the air con was on full blast. We drove toward the mountains where Mae Kasa waterfall is tucked away. On the last Sunday of every month, the Braverly crew spends the...
