This is a picture of me eating tacos in Times Square about 2 months after I moved to New York. I had gotten home (which was 5 blocks from here and yes, it sucked) and my roommate wanted me to walk with her and her friend to the tourist trap but I had just ordered tacos so I brought them with me.

My rainy Friday afternoon attempt at a personal essay

If you cut me open, you’ll find I’m made of pure emotion. This might not come as a surprise by those who know me because I’m a cliche — I wear my heart on my sleeve. No amount of therapy or alcohol or sleep has relieved me of these overwhelming sentiments.

For so long, I hated the emotions. They were icky, gross, and embarrassing. Too often they manifest into a good cry…