My blogging life began on the now-defunct Multiply.com, where I went through a phase of posting personality questionnaires and quizzes. There’s one still imprinted on my memory: what color is your heart? Mine, allegedly, was blue.
When I was younger, I liked pretending to be busy. Without anyone teaching me, I understood that being unavailable meant you were needed. Important. Maybe even useful. And I loved being useful. I wrote to-do lists as long as my arm, pretending they meant success. I hated being lugged into other people’s plans, pretending I
Dear Madam, Please accept this letter as my formal resignation from the present. Know with all gravity that this was not an easy decision to make. But I feel that the world and the burdens it places are not as I had hoped. When I place my feet on temporary ground, I feel the madness of galaxies exploding
1. I have always wanted to be a truth-teller. But the kind of truth I want to tell takes words and time, the kind of time nobody has for me. 2. It is often said that Life does not give you anything you cannot handle, but maybe Life has mistaken the strength of my hands
Nearly three years ago, I met a boy who didn’t feel things. He and I called them “doors” — mine were always open, emotions free-flowing whenever I stayed up late to talk to him; and his were always closed, except for moments when my words could pry him open and he felt pinches of things