If you ever find yourself in Brooklyn's Crown Heights neighborhood, you may notice the approximately 40 synagogues and many yeshivas. You'll see bearded men in black coats and modestly dressed women with short brown hair following the traditional appearance called for by the Chabad-Lubavitch movement. What you may not notice, though, is what many women in this community, and in many other Orthodox Jewish neighborhoods, are wearing: wigs.

Getting ready to see a band you want to see - like really want to see - in the early stages of musical enthusiasm is not unlike getting up early on Christmas morning. There's a giddy wildness, approaching hysteria, as the day draws near. You're geeking out to the music of whichever band you're about to see, skimping on stuff you'd ordinarily spend money on so that you have enough for a ticket.

I had picked the “Bride Tribe” temporary tattoo over “Pecker Inspector.” As I passed through security to catch my flight home, my eyelids were heavy, the stench of vodka seeped from my pores and my body ached. I wasn’t 20 anymore, but my friend had wanted us to act like we were for her bachelorette party. I’m just one of many millennials who’ve chosen to participate in a friend’s pre-wedding bash.

Games like Assassin's Creed Odyssey played on a giant background screen as Google CEO Sundar Pichai and other company executives unveiled their latest product in March. Stadia, a new game-streaming platform, will allow people to smoothly stream blockbuster games to smartphones, tablets, PCs and other devices running Google's Chrome browser or YouTube. Pichai promised a "new games experience." But his was only the latest shot fired in a battle royal that's brewing over the future of gaming.

As told to Maroosha MuzaffarIn 2013, Muhammad Kabir, a Rohingya Muslim in Myanmar, was released after five years in prison. He was just 16 miles from his home in Maungdaw, in Rakhine state, where his wife and four children still lived - or so he thought.The day I was released from jail in Buthidaung, I took the jungle route home. I could have taken the main road, but I was scared of seeing the Myanmar police. They weren't kind to Rohingya Muslims, and I'm a Rohingya Muslim.

As told to Maroosha MuzaffarIn 2013, Muhammad Kabir, a Rohingya Muslim in Myanmar, was released after five years in prison. He was just 16 miles from his home in Maungdaw, in Rakhine state, where his wife and four children still lived - or so he thought.The day I was released from jail in Buthidaung, I took the jungle route home. I could have taken the main road, but I was scared of seeing the Myanmar police. They weren't kind to Rohingya Muslims, and I'm a Rohingya Muslim.

Before I get started, I should reveal that I'm biased. If anyone in their right mind decides to bring harm to any nephew or niece of mine, or any child, I am very much against that person whether or not we're related. My brother is in prison because he tried to do just that: strangle his kids.One of the doctors who treated my brother was astonished that he could function given how much antipsychotic medication he was on.

"I promise I'll never ever do anything without your explicit consent."The speaker? A charming 29-year-old wordsmith. I was unemployed, and an idle mind is the devil's workshop. I was craving affection, love and sexual intimacy, and above all, I wanted to escape from my dreary life. It was a Saturday afternoon when we met. Online. Then, after a few witty exchanges: "How far down the rabbit hole would you like to go?""All the way with the RIGHT person," I wrote.

Think there's just one road to business success? Check out OZY's series on the world's most unconventional CEOs. OZY's series on unconventional CEOs isn't business as usual. Think there's just one road to business success? Check out OZY's series on the world's most unconventional CEOs. If you ask Richard Sheridan what dooms a shoddy piece of software to failure, he’ll drop a somewhat graphic comparison: that of an organ transplant gone wrong.

We are seated by a guide one row at a time in a very dark room, snaking past a blackout curtain in conga-line fashion, gripping the shoulders of those ahead of us. There's not even a sliver of light from an exit sign or through a curtain. Then the performance begins: voices on stage, a dog barking from the right, the smell of dulce de leche wafting from the left and water droplets tickling my arms from above. It's a full immersion of the senses - except for sight.