Watch out for the ghosts
March 11th, 2026
“Watch out for the ghosts…” the doctor said as he left the room. Myles was unimpressed by the doctor or the exam that he just performed. Another doctor who couldn’t provide any answers, Myles thought to himself. The nurse entered the room and ushered Myles into another room where his blood would be drawn. The phlebotomist began drawing blood as the nurse explained the next series of meds the doctor wanted Myles to try out. She then handed him a sheet of paper and directed him to the fourth floor.
On the fourth floor, Myles was met with a dark room and rows of chairs that faced a wall. There were all kinds of people sitting in the chairs. Some were young. Others were old. Most of them looked depressed and completely dissociated from their bodies. They seemed to be almost shells of who they were before they arrived at this hospital.
“Rodriguez! Rodriguez to station 2! Rodriguez to Station 2!” Upon hearing his last name, Myles shuffled to Station 2. He sat down across from a woman with long dark hair, glasses, and a cold demeanor. Without any introduction of herself, she began asking Myles some of the most intimate questions of the 21st Century. “Where do you work?” Myles responded that he worked in a law office downtown as a legal assistant. “What is your social security number?” Myles gave her the 9-digit number that seemed to be a key to most liberties in this country. “ Can I have your ID and insurance card?” Those were the other keys to liberty.
Myles began to dissociate as she typed, and his eyes landed on all of the desk decor that the woman had. His eyes narrowed on a crochet plushie of a bee holding a sign. The sign read “bee-yond grateful.” Myles scoffed and retreated into his thoughts. He felt offended by the plush. What could she be grateful for? Employment that was based on other people’s suffering? Didn’t she know that patients would see this plush? Of course, she did; she made sure that the plush faced the patient, not her. Perhaps she was grateful that she was on the other side of the window and not in the chair being asked questions. If we were to give her the benefit of the doubt, maybe… just maybe, she was grateful to help those who were injured.
But perhaps she put the plush there as a reminder for the patients to be grateful. The thought that Myles should be grateful that he could seek out medical care crossed his mind, but just as quickly as the thought came, he pushed it away. What could Myles truly be grateful for? His wasted youth? His unanswered medical questions? His looming financial struggles? He was bemused at the idea of being grateful that he needed an X-ray.
“Your total today before insurance will be $3,435. After insurance, it is about $700. Would you like to prepay?” Myles nodded and told her to charge 100 dollars to his credit card. So much for groceries, Myles thought to himself. At least this test would provide some answers, Myles thought to himself. He hoped the test would give him some clarity over the chronic full-body pain that was coursing through him. He took a copy of the receipt and sat back down.
“Rodriguez! Rodriguez! I am looking for a Rodriguez!” The X-ray technician called. Myles stood and followed the man. “My name is Joel, I’ll be handling your X-rays today.” Joel was about the same height as Myles and had a sway to his hips that told Myles that Joel was likely queer. “Please take off your shoes. You can leave your socks on. Then lie down on your side. I’ll adjust your legs.” Without a word in response, Myles did as he was told and felt Joel gently move his knees and feet into the appropriate position. “Hold still. I will be right back.” Joel said as he left the room. Myles began to fantasize about what Joel’s life was like out of the hospital. Did he have a boyfriend? Did he like going to restaurants? What was his favorite food?
*bzzzZZZzz- WhIrrRRr- BBzz-BZZZ- RiiiinGNGG*
The door creaked open, and Joel was before him again. “Please turn on your other side, and I will adjust your legs again.” Myles now faced a wall that had been painted with birds and flamingos. Its warmth stood in contrast to the white light above Myles. The lighting made everything feel cold except for those birds. Myles longed to travel to a place like that and be able to explore. Maybe by the time he was able to travel, he would have a guy like Joel on his arm. The door slammed shut.
*bzzzZZZzz- WhIrrRRr- BBzz-BZZZ- RiiiinGNGG*
“Please bend your knees and hold them together.” The gravity of reality began to hit Myles. There was a real possibility that this test would not provide answers. There was a real possibility that he wouldn’t get to see the flamingos. There was a real possibility that he wouldn’t find a man like Joel to spend his days with. If Myles lost his ability to walk and modern medicine offered no answers, then Myles’ life as he knew it and as he imagined it would be out of reach.
*bzzzZZZzz- WhIrrRRr- BBzz-BZZZ- RiiiinGNGG*
“This will be the last scan. You can put on your shoes and stand here.” Myles stood in front of a plastic board, and Joel took the final scan. Joel told Myles that he would get the results in the next few days. Myles said thank you and left.
Afterword:
The opening line of this story is “watch out for the ghosts.” This line framed the entire story. I wanted to explore how people become ghosts of who they once were when they go through the medical system. In my opinion, there is a thin veil that exists during medical testing that leaves patients wondering about mortality, hopes, and fears for the future. The intake process, through its routine structure, strips the human connection from medicine. It forces the intake coordinator to dehumanize patients through repeated desensitization. The medical intake process also forces the patient to reconcile with how capitalistic and devoid of warmth the entire system is. Effectively, both the patient and the intake coordinator become ghosts. In this story, we get a glimpse of warmth through the X-ray technician, Joel. Joel serves as a counter to the intake coordinator, as just by his introducing himself, we feel a more human connection. This allows the main character, Myles, to really escape from his reality for a moment and offers the audience a reprieve from the taxing medical routine. My goal with this story was not to describe a universal process but to undergo an exercise that allows readers to experience the fears, hopes, and frustrations of a patient in the medical system.
Death by a Name
January 7th, 2026
The figure sat behind a great wall of blank paper and a typewriter, as they typed out another line. Soon, he would be back to take another page out of the figure’s hands and claim it as his own.
The figure lacked a proper name of any sort, or rather, it had died long before the figure realized how its lack might impact them. To be without a name in Jenicitadel was to live a life of shame. Only those with a proper name were conferred any respect and afforded the opportunity of ownership of property, ideas, or even ownership over their body. To be without a name was to be at the mercy of those around you and live in hiding from those with a name.
The figure met the man at a bar, of all places; it was cinematic for them. Never had a man with a name offered to buy the figure a drink. In truth, the figure had never tasted alcohol. It was reserved for those with a name— it was reserved for those who could have a check made out to them by the Ni’hola. It had been over a century since the Ni’hola arrived and taken handfuls of humans to Jenicitadel.
The figure’s great-grandmother was lured to Jenicitadel with the promise of a great life and a husband. Yet when she arrived, she was forcibly wed to a man who lost his name after he offended the Ni’hola. Eventually, the woman’s name died too— this was the story that the figure liked to tell themself at least.
As the figure’s lips touched the cool glass of golden liquid with a foaming top, they winced at the bitter taste that graced their tongue. “It isn’t for everyone, sweetheart,” the man said. He placed his glass on the wooden countertop and held out his hand. Unsure of what to do, the figure took the man’s hand. “My name’s Zhāng Zǐmò,” the man said. He didn’t ask for the figure’s name. He could tell just by looking at them that they didn’t have one. The figure wore clothes they had outgrown, and their hair was disheveled. Yet, what truly gave them away was the almost placid look in their eye that so many who lacked a name had. So, the man called them sweetheart.
It was the closest thing to a name that the figure could recall in recent memory. They knew that the man was talking to them when they said sweetheart, and it made them feel warm on the inside. They felt seen. They knew that it also meant something deeper, though. Something foul and scary. In giving the figure a name and a gift, the man had claimed them under the Jenicitadel law. By drinking the golden foamy liquid, the figure had accepted the terms, no matter what they were. Should they not obey under the new name given, the Ni’hola would ensure a death beyond that of a name.
What did it mean to be at the mercy of another in this way? The figure had grown up around others whose names had died, and scrounged and scraped by for their entire life. Would feeling seen be the same as being seen for who they were? The figure’s mind asked all these questions and more after that sip. Yet the feelings of acknowledgment and care that this man stirred seemed enough to the figure. They had not known the comforts of true recognition.
This meeting at the bar was almost four years ago. While the figure grew to care for the man and his lessons in literature and writing, the figure had grown to disdain the name sweetheart with all of its condescension. Who was this man to give the figure a drink and think that he could claim them? What right did he have to name them and bind them to only his world of acknowledgment? Sitting at the typewriter, the figure wrote stories about characters with all sorts of names. The figure’s characters were filled with an agency that the figure could only dream of— they were able to be seen as they were and known as they craved. Not once did the figure’s characters bend the knee to another’s interpretation of them— they set out to shape their own identity and were revered once they did.
Slowly, the figure wrote a story in secret. The figure knew that the man came down to the cellar to check on them in the morning when the rooken crowed and at night when the wowl howled. Each day, the figure wrote five pages of drivel for him to sell at the market under his name and one page of gold for themself to treasure. They hid these pages underneath their hay mattress and waited for the day that the man died. They hoped one day to sign the pages with the name they had given themself: Robin.
Turning 25
December 29th, 2025
My birthday is not something that I generally look forward to anymore. This year felt more dreadful than the last. I was leaving my early twenties behind and entering my mid-twenties. All I can say is that I truly feel like I know nothing about the ever-changing world around me. I remember when I turned eighteen and how powerful I felt. I felt like I had just gained access to the world around me and like I had everything figured out.
I was your typical honor-roll student who got a scholarship and then went off to one of those fancy colleges, only to realize that most of those “smart” kids in college are just people. As people do, they were people who bs their way through a paper, party too much, and are just trying to figure it all out before the graduation deadline.
Since college, I feel like I have been trying to figure out my life and also figure out what my deadlines to myself are. I’m not entirely sure that I am succeeding. Yet, I can’t say that I have met many people in my age group who feel like they are thriving. Maybe that’s a good thing? Maybe we are all a little lost right now? The milestones that we grew accustomed to growing up with aren’t there anymore. For many, there are no more graduations, no more report cards, and no more winter, spring, or summer breaks. So what milestones do I have to look forward to?
I suppose there are the classics that previous generations looked forward to, like buying a home, getting married, and having kids. But in 2025, don’t these feel a little out of reach or even old-fashioned? Don’t get me wrong, I would love to have kids, a husband, and a beautiful home. I do want that. But in a world where non-binary people are still on the margins of society, what does a reimagining of those milestones even look like?
Today marks the second day of my 25th year since birth. I can’t say that my first day started too well, honestly…
I’m hunched over a toilet bowl, and my insides are wretching. Never getting the chicken teriyaki bento box from that place again. I knew that I should’ve told him that the restaurant he chose was ass. Not once have I ever heard a good word about that place.
We walked in and were promptly greeted by the hostess. I looked over the menu and knew that everything was overpriced. The only reason the restaurant could get away with it is because it was in downtown. I was sick of Asian food. Two straight days of eating Asian food for Christmas Eve and Christmas Day really did that to you. I was craving tacos. Nonetheless, I insisted that the person I was with should choose the restaurant since we couldn’t find a Mexican place nearby. Since I insisted, I was not going to be the one to tell him I didn’t like his choice. So, I sat down, ordered, and listened to my him talk about his holidays. After a few bites of the chicken teriyaki, I felt the sauce start to foam in my mouth like raw egg whites— slimy. Now, the clock is about to strike midnight and the first few moments of my 25th year are of me feeling the cold tiles under my knees with a cool sweat melting down my forehead as I inhale reminent scents of toilet bowl cleaner. It can only go up from here right? RIGHT?!?
Later on for my birthday, I got dinner with my family at the same restaurant that they had my babyshower at 25 years prior. Each year my sister asks the same question, “what did you learn this year?” Each time I am caught off guard. This year though she skipped the question and I am left to ask myself that question.
This year has been one of new experiences, grief, and transition. I have met so many new people this year. I started to pursue more of my passions, began to take a more serious approach to dating, and finally moved out of my parent’s place. Now, these are all things that I did, but what did I learn from each of them?
When I started to pursue more of my passions I think that I felt a very strong sense of apprehension and distrust in myself. I didn’t know if what I was doing would pay off. I still don’t really know. However, that is the art of nurturing a passion to me. You don’t nurture it with the goal of it paying off, you nurture it with the goal of losing yourself in the process. By this I mean, you lose your sense of self conciousness and you don’t lead with your ego.
As I began to take a more serious approach to dating, I started to realize realities that I would have to face if I ever truly wanted to be emotionally vulnerable with someone. One of those things was gender and language. I had to come to terms with the fact that with each person I dated, we would inevitably have to have a conversation around what gender neutral language and support looked like for me. It is not enough for me to just have a boyfriend, I need a boyfriend who is atune to my experiences with gender fluidity and performance.
Moving out of my parent’s place was hard. Not because I was moving far away or because I was worried I couldn’t survive on my own, but because it triggered grief for me. My childhood home would never be the way it was when I lived there. Worries began to trickle in the closer my move-out date approached. I worried for my parent’s health and well being as I was one of their primary care-takers. I worried about the potential for loneliness. I also worried that my departure would cause a rift in our fragile relationships. I am happy to say that this grief and worry has subsided. Learning how to recognize my parents as people who are also experiencing life for the first time has given me relief when we argue. It has also given me relief when moving out. My parent’s can love me and not have the know how for how to interact with me in this new chapter. There is a learning curve for all of us. That is the thing about a parent-child relationship I suppose… it is all new, all the time.
The conclusion to my birthday was a trip to the club with friends both new and old. We walked into the club and the DJ was playing oldschool classics on vinyl. Slowly we all made enough room to create a dance circle and one by one we all started to loosen up and have fun. Dancing with my friends reminded me that everything was going to be okay because nothing is permanent. The food poisoning from the early ams was gone and the sweat on my forehead now was from the joy of a night well spent. Just like the food poisoning subsided, my dread for my 25th year did too.
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