We have reached a point in time that science is ingrained into our lives in the food we eat, houses we live in, and careers we take on. One would think that science would become the dominant factor that defines the paths our lives take.
But the one reasoning that dictates my life to this day is only five words long and has nothing to do with science.
“Because you are a woman.”
It has become the one-size-fits-all reasoning that is offered every time I try to challenge a social norm.
“Why do I have to close my legs?” …
One weekend I came home after a week at the university to find a tiny squirrel in my room, snuggling inside a drey made of coir, dried leaves, and a cotton-like soft material.
He was yet to open his eyes and was sound asleep without a care about what was going on in the outside world.
A few hours later, I carefully picked him up from the drey and fed him milk through a soaked cloth wick. …
My highest earning story on Medium is an article on programming. It is also the first article I published on this platform. Despite its success though, I didn’t think of publishing another programming article ever again.
Am I secretly a masochist who hates it when nice things happen to me? Is that why I’m not repeating my (only) recipe for success on Medium? Fortunately, I’m not a masochist. In fact, when I joined Medium roughly three months ago, making a decent income off it was one of the goals on my mind.
“I’m still in this marriage because of my children”
It’s something my mother told me, told her, in defense of staying in a marriage that was nothing but a breeding ground of rage and venom.
My parents fought. Every single day. Without failure. Their reasons to fight were never important. They fought for the sake of fighting. They fought for the resentment of how their lives turned out to be. They fought for the need to bend the other to their whim. Theirs was a marriage burning in the fumes of raised voices, constant tears, and curse words.
As a slow thinker battling depression, I have always struggled to maintain an appropriate level of productivity in my life. My one-hour writing sessions end up with not even 500 words written down on paper. My day is filled with tasks I hope would take one hour but end up taking few hours off my time. On top of that, my brain needs more off-hours than the appropriate numbers suggested by productivity gurus to allow my mind the breathing space so as to not get overwhelmed by work.
It’s not that I don’t work as many hours as the others…
Here I am again
Standing at the crossroads
The uncertainty, the excitement,
The fear of the unknown
A sizzling, humming
Chorus of disruption
Blended in the whispers of a night
As I make plans for a future where I take off on a completely different career path (if it is one) to the one I have studied for, my mind is now filled with the neverending thoughts of doubt, fear, and excitement when I go to sleep at night. Hope turning them into a poem will give me peace of mind for at least a while :)
Thank you for…
The society I grew up in wasn’t actively seeking to shove a narrative of “men are better than women” down my throat, but it was always in its undertones, an understanding everyone knew not to dispute. It was a claim I found myself struggling with since childhood , even when I knew nothing about feminism.
So when I finally discovered feminism — and understood the true depth of the injustice women are subjected to — it was an answer to my struggle with accepting the status quo.
I’m desperate to see an ending. An ending offers a form of validation, a final judgment to my mind that scurries from one state to another, not knowing where I stand during a transition.
An ending signifies a return of control to me. It doesn’t hold any unknowns, an uncertainty of how and where things might end up. Whether the ending is good or bad, it settles at a place where I have control over all the variables that control my life. It gives me my freedom back, no longer bound by the fear of the unknowns.
My desperation appears…
Writing about death and the afterlife has been on my mind for some time when 𝘋𝘪𝘢𝘯𝘢 𝘊. asked the all-important question of “What death means to you” in this week’s prompt. Thank you Diana for tempting me to start writing this sooner than I would have given my habit of procrastinating.
I have a lot to say about death but one thing I can’t say is that I have it all figured out.
I come from a generation of Buddhists who have been practicing the religion since their birth. I wouldn’t say I’m a practicing Buddhist. But it may be…
Sort of a geek and very much a dreamer.