So there’s that—harrowing grief that stretches and swallows me whole. I feel really small in the face of it and I’m running out of emotional real estate to house it. But there’s also progress. Sometimes I think of a pun and it makes me laugh so hard, my teeth hurt. Sometimes I catch myself talking to myself, and it feels like I’m high-fiving myself. Everyday I catch glimpses of myself and it reminds me that I’m here; that I am present; that I am getting back to myself. Continue reading Some things I know for sure:
And then there are cracks. Moments that should ordinarily be a quick tear when I encounter something that moves me but my body malfunctions and my grief flows out in barely contained guttural screams. It’s contained quickly. But it’s still a swollen river: it can only deviate from its course; fuck some shit up. Continue reading Little sorrows
Trigger Warning: this post contains content and links to content on sexual violence from sexual harassment to rape, subtle and overt. A while ago, being unable to write the sequel to I’m not quite sure, you will ask guys to comment/ send you emails of the first time they wanted to know if he fucks the way he talks. Your friend (God bless her) concerned, texted … Continue reading Meh…
I lie prostrate on my bed, my whole body engrossed in the act of waiting. Idle hands trace patterns on my quilt while listening in to the conversation going on in the living room. My room is dark and quiet. I try to pace my stuttered breathing with the ticking of the hands of the alarm clock on my bedside table. A memory replays in … Continue reading Dad, the misnomer
Mid-morning on a seemingly non-descript day in August 2012, my mother discovers a tumour on my upper palette. I’m sitting by the kitchen-door watching my mother cook chapati, because it is a miracle that she is cooking anything at all. I was ten when my mother dragged me to the kitchen and made me cook ugali and since then, she only goes back to the … Continue reading Delayed Grief.