I grew my hair out all summer so that I could wear it up in a high and slightly off-centre ponytail. Gone was my chin-length bob that framed my round child face, that I was sure made me look chubby. I wasn’t chubby — easy to see that now — but a steady campaign of taunting had made me believe I was. I thought that being fat was the worst thing I could possibly be.
The following pieces cannot be read in isolation, one after the other. No story is complete without another; no piece acts as a beginning or end point. Readers, like space travellers, must move forward in loops.