a collage, written in early 2018
It is both a blessing
And a curse
To feel everything
So very deeply.
— David Jones
If I met my seven year old self today,
What would I tell her,
What would I say to her?
Would I warn her of the future,
Of the bad things yet to come?
Or would I leave her be naive,
To keep having fun?
Because my seven year old self,
Believed the world a perfect place,
Would she recognize herself,
When she looked into my face?
Even though I’ve learnt so much more,
Black, white, and gray.
The pavement glistened under the moonlight as I half-walked, half-jogged from Jaffray Dorm over to the front gate. Monsoon season had well arrived, and the humid evening air attested to that.
I waved and smiled at the guards, who had known me since I was a frizzy-haired seventh-grader, before ignoring the crosswalk and jaywalking straight across the busy road. It’s safe — most of the time. As soon as I got to the other side, the bright fluorescent light instantly struck my eyes as my nose caught a big whiff of the old, familiar scent of…
One of the few things I’ve learned in life so far
I like walking home alone.
It’s a bit of a hilly way to go, but the air is always crisp against my cheeks as the wind flutters through my hair. I love to watch the willowy leaves rustle and sway while the sun shines on them just right — a cloud of green speckled with gold. My earbuds are in, and I get to appreciate my music fully and ponder the lyrics. The other day I got really excited over how the writer weaved the words together so well…
In light of the mass shooting in Thousand Oaks
All my life, I’ve attended four mourning services.
The first one happened when I was about ten. It was for a girl from school that I barely knew. She was also ten. Cancer took her life.
The second one happened almost three years ago. It was for an upperclassman at my high school. He was always laughing. Always joyful and happy. Cancer, too, took him away.
The third one happened back around late March. It was for my ahma. She was — and still is — one of the kindest and…
From my earliest memories, life has always been filled with stories and words and imagination. Every single night during my toddlerhood, Dad would religiously turn on what essentially was an audiobook of bedtime stories, and I would fall asleep to them. Mom, on the other hand, was more of a storyteller. I looked forward to every road trip we did because I knew I’d be hearing all kinds of wild stories from her childhood.
At some point, then, I learned how to read and began to wander in the bookstore at the mall while my parents did their weekly shopping…
The mustard house stood tall and proud, towering the girl as the gentle breeze whispered through the trees and grazed her arms. The sun amidst the cloudless sky beamed at her, welcoming her back to her place. After traveling for endless hours across countless time zones, she had finally arrived at her destination: home.
Home, thought the girl, grinning as she glided through the front door, expecting to be greeted by her family — yet everyone was gone. Where are they? Disappointed, she paused to look around, her smile slowly twisting into a frown. The framed photographs, the books on…
20 // A few glimpses into my world // Currently based in Edinburgh