A Prescription

1. For Comfort: lay on a beach and listen to the relentless waves of the sea beat against sand over and over again. Later, play all the songs that made you giddy with joy when you were 14 (because very few things made us happy then) And to wrap this up, count your blessings on your 10 fingers. If you have more than 10, then sit back and feel comfortable.

2. For coping with loss:
Cut your hair short.
Paint your eyelids blue.
Dance through the streets and sing to the rhythm of your heart.
And most importantly, grieve openly and grieve freely. Grieve unabashedly and grieve for yourself no one else.
And if all else fails; Scream. Scream in an open yard. Scream out of your windows and scream inside of your car. Let the air out of your system, let the nitrogen, helium, carbon dioxide be exhaled and let yourself feel

.3. For Peace: Forgive. Forgive everyone and everything that has ever hurt you, that has ever taken away from you pieces that you will never get back; pieces that won’t fit you anymore. Forgive everyone who told you that you weren’t pretty enough or bright enough. Forgive them for tainting your heart black little by little. Forgive them for misunderstanding and forgive them because they could never see you for the you that You are. Most importantly: Forgive yourself for not being able to look into the mirror and loving the skin that you’re in. Forgive yourself for trying to find ways to change the you that you were always meant to be.

4. For Love: Throw away the scales and the measuring cups. Get rid of the little and give only alot. Forget your past in the past (where it is supposed to be). Stop planning so much. Stop cradling your heart into a box that is marked as “fragile”. Stop trying to figure out the odds because the odds of us living until we see tomorrow are close to nil so what reason do we have to not love abundantly? Why are we so afraid of diving in and loosing ourself?

5. For Happiness: Look Around. Take it all in. You are more than you have allowed yourself to be. You are skin and muscles and bones and poetry and words and flower petals and chocolate chips and you are everything that no one will ever be. You are a home and you are a waterfall. You are a blanket and you are a healer. And slowly you will find out that happiness is not an 8 digit bank balance. It is sitting around eating the most delightful meal at 2 AM around your living room with people you have grown old with. Happiness is sitting on a patch of grass and staring at a sky that is holding a crescent moon, finding each others hands in the grass and hoping for the very best for tomorrow. Happiness is diving into the bluest of waters with our eyes closed and our hearts open. Happiness is sitting in a car that has been parked ages ago talking about that one time in 8th grade. And most importantly happiness is coming home to a home where your footsteps echo the sound of love and a life ahead.



The possibilities of a good ending have been escalated to such high standards that we never leave room for the sheer understanding of LIFE itself. We are trained and prodded and pricked and fed the same idea for our whole lives; that there will be a happy ending somewhere somehow. That we will find the truest of our passions and our heart’s desire. That we will find a decent job and great pay and hours that allow us to have hobbies and have time for Saturday morning breakfasts and Thursday evening dinners with the family. We are so focused on the idea of a perfect, on the ‘in the next 5 years I will be living here’ plan that we are so often and so awfully dissatisfied with our lives today.

We try to accomplish these perfect ideas and ideals through make believe things. Through money that will make us sadder, through people that are so temporary, through giant houses where we end up taking a sad little corner in and through front yards with plants that we don’t even water and to sunrises that we never wake up to witness.

My point is that life is devastating. We will loose far more than we will win. We will break and shatter and never be able to retrieve some of our pieces. Some pieces, we will give away, voluntarily; too much, too soon. Some we will hold on to, despite their grayness. Some we will revisit from time to time. Homes will become houses and people will remain people despite us making homes in them.

I think I’m trying to arrive to a point where we are more than the things that have happened to us or a label that we have become. That we are more than just a collection of things and facts and sizes and shapes and symptoms and tragedies. We will always be above them.

We will be more, do more and understand more. We will write down every mistake we made and we will think before every word we speak. We will try to silence our demons and prevent them from rising from underneath our skin and we will care more.
We will let life do its thing but we will also give it a counterpart that will strike equally as hard. We will sail and drown and anchor and anchor and anchor.


Oh my god, let the chaos flow.

Let there be mystery and plans that we have not made and places that we have longed to go to and choices that we are always too afraid to make and risks that we so often don’t take.

Let there be chaos and absolute manic in our heads and our hearts. Too often we allow ourselves the room to think and act accordingly. Too often we stay within the lines and too often we bite the bullet that we were supposed to spit.

Too often we stand still when we need to be running. Too often we think before we speak because who are we if not prim and proper and moderately toned and neatly ironed shirts and phones that are always charged and arrivals that are never too early and never too late.

Let the chaos flow. Let there be cancelled dates and spontaneous trips. Let there be not one, not two, 6 restaurant tastings in one evening. Let there be music blasting out of cars; music we can barely sing along to. Let there be car rides that take us somewhere and anywhere and maybe nowhere at all. Let there be hands held and hugs that feel like being wrapped at the fireside holding a mug of steaming coffee and let there be loves that are fleeting and so so risky that you know you will loose your mind with that love and without. Let there be chaos and anger and words that we can never take back and apologies that we know will follow. But let there be madness and sheer loss. Let there be door slamming and earth shattering chaos.

Let the blues mix with the oranges and let the blacks mix with reds.

The Calm and the Raging Storm

The calm in me is always at war with the storm that IS me.

On the one hand, the calm wants to rise above; to feel like they have done the right thing and taken the high road to redemption and will someday be commended for the goodness that they did.

The calm in me wants to bite the bullet and keep the peace, to stand still and stay calm.

Whereas the storm in me is constantly raging.

It is furious and resilient. It shall not and will not give in.

It wants to walk in; all guns blazing and a grenade in my mouth, ready to pull the pin. The storm in me is hardly quiet; especially these days when all I do is light up into a flame every time I step out. These flames are amber and a deep deep blue. They are as mystical as they are unstoppable. These days I feel like all I do is fight the calm with the storm within me.

I am walking to start a war and I am facing calamity head on.

Where I’d rather be

I am sitting here where I have sat for the past 2 days.. for the past 3 years. I am sitting here staring at a wall full of words hoping that someday the words I write will hopefully make it to someone else’s wall. Someone who looks at the words and feels an urgent sense of wandering.

I am always standing here, with my back to the world and my eyes facing the view beyond the glass windows. I am forever staring at the city lights and the cars rushing past each other to get to a home. I am waiting here by the glass windows for the arms to hold me close.

I am closing my eyes and envisioning a house surrounded by thick canopies in the middle of a forest. I am standing in the middle of the kitchen with a mug of steaming coffee held against my chest waiting for the rest of the noises in the house to wake up. I am reading in the book nook and I am wandering past the open bedroom doors. I am sitting by the porch at sundown and I am waiting to turn the lights on.

I am sitting in a truck, and I am rushing past cities and towns with no names. I am whooshing past gas stations and restaurants that probably serves really good coffee and some warm pancakes. I (We?) am listening to whatever the radio is playing.

I am awake before the sunrise. I jump out of bed and I quickly rush out to sit on the roof of the house where I can see the twilight shift. I see the black turn to dark blue to a deep, burnt orange to an achingly beautiful yellow. I am listening to the sound of the birds already up and about their day and I am smiling ear to ear.

I am sitting by the fire with a blanket over me and I am wondering what the next 10 years of my life look like. And I see blank which makes me extremely happy. I’d want nothing but the unexpected and anything but Ordinary.

Nature and Nurture

I am unearthing. Pulling myself apart seam by seam, every root pulled apart like threads in a weave.

I am losing sense of one-ness, whole-ness. I am becoming an individual with threads and not just one root. I was a root, a stem and some may even say a full plant with flowers about to bloom and fruits ready to give; I was there, almost but not quite.

I left that behind me. I left the dream of empty flowers and sour fruits and I am here, unearthing.
We are all built from day 0. Even before the limbs and the fingers; we are all like seeds.

We begin as seeds, growing our roots slowly. We begin by earthing our roots underneath, so the prime process of growing is always shadowed. Always hidden underneath the earth and the mud. I am laying the foundation of my being, I am going to begin by building onto kindness and I will start by being kind to myself.

I will grow through the kindness that I let myself feel because it is so important to be able to look in the mirror and not flinch and pick and prod at everything that I could and should be changing. It is important to see a work of art rather than a work in a progress; because frankly, we are always going to be a work in progress but we are forever works of freaking art.

We will then nurture our roots. We will water them with the right manure and ample water. We will bathe in the sunlight and allow ourselves the freedom to take our time to grow as big and as strong as we possibly can. Because there is beauty in patience.

And now, when we are out and about into the word with the other plants being able to look at us and watch our growth so far, we will not be afraid. We will not hide away from our progress and we will not answer to anyone. We decided for ourselves how and when we wanted to grow and; we are not done yet. We are never done. We are going to stand there and flaunt our work so far.
And when the flowers come out, we are going to smile. These are the petals that we have worked hard for and they belong to us. There will be flaws and they might be out of order but they are ours. We need to learn to accept our flaws. They are part of us and one man’s flaw is only another man’s art. I will love my petals and the way they reflect the sunlight and absorb the moonlight. I will forever be in awe of the petals in me.

Listening Walls and Foreign Lands

I leaned back, rested my head against the brick wall and shut out the world. I had once read that if you go to really old places, that have been abandoned but were once habited, and if you lean close and really put your ears against the walls, you can hear the past. You can hear the nosies, the cackles of laughter and stream of joy that once made this house a home. That means, that the walls can literally absorb sound and store it within them. Now, I don’t know how true this is, but I truly find this so magical, beyond any reasonable understanding, I want to believe this.

I want to believe that when we were children and we were running away from siblings and fighting and crying and laughing  and snoring and living; I want to believe that these are not forever lost. Growing up happens so fast, that when I look back, I want it all stacked in neat CD’s, ready for me to play whenever I feel nostalgic. I want to believe that when I turned 13 and had my friends come over, that every single conversation from that day has been absorbed and stored.

I want to remember and simultaneously forget that god awful day when I was 15 and was told that I was pretty and for the teenager that I was, I believed it and was on call with my best friend for 4 hours that night; that the walls heard me saying everything that night. I want the walls to remember and remind me that exactly a year later, at 16, I cried endlessly because for some reason, I had stopped being the object of “pretty” for him and that broke me; for a while there.

I want the walls to remind me that at 17, when I received my first acceptance letter to University, I couldn’t wait to step out of the four walls of my house that were somehow closing in and making me feel like a prisoner in my own home. I couldn’t wait to be out of the chains that I had cuffed myself with and to see the world beyond with all of the lies and fables that were fed to me One Tree Hill and Gossip Girl.

And at 20, whenever I go back home, I want the walls to enclose me, embrace me and remind me that this is never going to be the same again. That I will never be back here again; never for ever. I will come here, stay for a few days, neatly make my bed and never return for good. I am a guest to my parents and a stranger in my hometown. I am no more here and I am neither there. For all my prayers of never returning back again, I really won’t.

Too foreign for home and too Foreign for homeland.

I want these walls to bare witness to me and my growing years. I want them to be a constant reminder of myself through the years, ages, eons. I never want to forget all the laughter that came from the depths of my chest and I never want to forget every idiot over whom I shed my tears and I want to always be reminded the good and the bad; safely stored in the walls.

Onwards and Forwards: Part 2

Growing up or Growing Old? Or just growing apart?

These are probably most descriptive of everything that we ever go through in the years that follow. We understand that growing up isn’t measured in age and birthdays, but is measured in circumstances, events and encounters. We learn to embrace the growing old is beautifully tragic- or beautiful and tragic. You understand why your parents never really tell you their age and you laugh when your age is asked. Its strange, stranger even to realize that ‘What goes around, comes around’.

You grow apart, from inanimate and very animate objects. You learn to leave some people behind despite the fact that they didn’t actually do anything wrong; almost like shedding skin. You carry some people onwards regardless of all the bullshit that they have put you through, like grey hair and dried flowers. You are now dripping with love and loss, hope and opaque screens and doors that never open and books that we never look back at, and colours that we never really reach out for anymore.

You realize that you have built gardens in others. You have planted careful seeds and watered your plants and you are waiting for the flowers to bloom but the goddamn weed just never stops. And sometimes, you leave your gardens there; within others. You leave your seeds waiting to bloom and your watered plants never to be watered again only to understand that gardens need to be grown within not without. To understand that flowers grow inside of your body and never in any one else; yes you can hand your flowers to someone once they have bloomed inside you but up until then, they are Yours.

Build your own gardens and take care of yourself before you start chasing the next big thing, Stop losing sight of the little and the minuscule because that is all there is. The big flashing lights and the neon signs and the dollar bills; they will all fade and so will you; from body to manure, from person to mud and all you will ever regret is not paying attention.

To love and To have Lost: Part 1

Ageing is weird. Its funny and strange and as the years go by, its gets funnier and stranger and rather unseemly as to how we react to the most normal and predictable process known to mankind in the most unusual and unwelcome change in all of us.

We spend the first half of our lives pining and hoping to understand the secrets of the mystical and magical world of adults where whispers and secrets are the only language known and the mysteries that take place behind closed doors and in hush-hushes is by far the only shot of adrenaline that we will ever need. We spend pining over a life that not only do we not know and aren’t ready for but also for a life that is so unpromising and so anti-climatic.

You lose the one’s you love, with no warning signs and no disclaimers. You lose them over small arguments and large door slamming, fleeing the countries and saying Goodbyes in every way but the uttering of those exact words.

You understand yourself better, in so many more ways that you could have ever imagined and don’t get me wrong, this IS NOT necessarily a good things. You understand that underneath all the layers that you keep so well polished and so well kept, you are dark and accepting that darkness is probably most of the second half.

You love more and less. You love less because you know what it is to have lost, and you love more because in the blink of an eye you have gone from 12-20 and you have understood that if if all of  life’s moments are going to be a blink’s worth, we might as well make it count. We might as well create a few “oops” moments in our lives.

The latter part of life well and truly begins at loss and might I add, it also mostly ends in loss. And let me remind you and emphasize it it as much as I really can with words projecting from a screen; you will grieve the loss of people who are alive. You will understand what it is to have been walked over and have been left to your devices to understand what happened. The blur of the moment is sometimes all it is; it is a blur; a foggy screen and a comma rather than a full stop. You will lose in so many more ways than one, a precious earring, a gifted pen, a  few memories stolen from right under your nose and a few reminders that just don’t seem important enough- all Lost from the ground that you stand on.

You are constantly drowning and resurfacing. Drowning in the sea of memories that you never seem to get out of; sinking and never wanting to come back up (note: wanting). And resurfacing, the world above sea. To be making new memories while being lost in another world is a challenge in itself, I would say.


  • Part 1

A little after Midway; Already

January 17, 2018.

I am here today and if it were upto me, I would have never dared to see myself here ever. I am here and I am trying harder than ever. You know I realized that you are only as weak as you allow yourself to be but the same applies to hollowness which is often confused with strength. I am trying to gather up all of the strength that there is left inside of me. I am trying to conjure up that energy and understand that there once used to be angels and demons fighting inside of me and now there are demons fighting off of other demons and trying to pick between the bad or the worse. I am trying to tame them, but I could use some help, I could use the help that I never ask for and I could use the help that I am always offered but refuse to accept. You see I have this notion, this notion that i ma the fixer and the problem as well. I am the judge and the jury and the victim and the departed, but like I said, I am trying.

I am trying to understand that not everything is in my power and not everything necessarily requires an answer and I am trying to understand that some loose ends are prettier the way they are. I am trying to understand that the me that I used to be is no where close to the me that I am and the Me that I will become will look back at me and laugh at my naive, and unrealistic expectations of the world and its people and well at myself as well.

So I am trying, I am trying to breathe without having to plan out by next 6 steps of the day and I am trying to shut down this ever talking head of mine and I am trying to sleep without having to toss and turn too much.