Navigating Guilt & Prioritizing Self-Care During A Lockdown

In the current economic landscape, understanding one’s privilege is becoming a bigger responsibility. As companies shut down and workers are retrenched, we’re left with family and friends who are one paycheck away from falling into poverty.

Most of us are always at the ready to help those in need, but guilt can turn out to be a heavier burden to carry when we come to realize the number of people we’re unable to reach during the pandemic. How do we stop thinking of how much more we could have done, and how do we keep our mental health from plummeting under all this pressure?

Walking On Seashells (Chapter 1 Excerpt)

“To remain here is a lie, to depart to another world is the truth.” – Tamil proverb

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Anjali’s eyes were beautiful, dark orbs nestled cosily in their sockets, perfectly symmetrical on her round face. She had her father’s eyes, strangers on the street often said, but he didn’t have the defiant, mischievous gleam that she had in hers. Tiny but plump like a mini Michelin mascot, her fists were constantly clenched as she stumbled here and there, searching determinedly for a new adventure in even the tightest, deepest crack in the pavement. Headstrong just like her father. Or so he’d like to think.

“Anjali! Please stop putting snails in your pockets,” Haresh called out from the kitchen exasperatedly. It had been raining heavily, causing snails to wander about the sidewalks and roads. Anjali had taken upon herself the very important duty of “rescuing” snails that came out from their flooded homes, and this rescue mission included picking up wet, slimy snails by their shells and placing them in the safest place in the world: her pocket.

RE: stop telling me to let go

This isn’t a listicle, but it is a list of things I hated about an old friend.

stop telling me to let go was one of the first few pieces I wrote for my Abandonment series on Medium. The series was about, well, being abandoned. It was a collection of poems and prose that spoke of heartache that accompanied friendship, love and family.

Home, sweet home.

How do you deal with loss?

It’s 4:39am. I’m sitting in the dark, squinting at my laptop’s screen, wondering why I feel this way and what urged me to write about it. It seems like I only come here when I lose something.

RE: inside these four walls

Inside these four walls is a piece written about a certain someone you will notice is a reoccurring muse in many of my other work. This was written in the beginning of my journey as a writer, and also as a part of my Abandonment series on Medium.

Hurt A Little Less

If your voice wasn’t an adamant hum coiled in the curve of my ear
And false promises didn’t run down my chest, leaving trails where my skin was seared

Maybe it would hurt a little less, a little less than I had feared
If we weren’t forced to separate from a life we held so dear

Nights like this

It’s nights like this.

When the streets are empty and the air in my room heavy with memories, just thinking of your name (or names) makes my tears pour down my face like a waterfall.

Protected: 2019

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Protected: Life and other dark stuff

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So leave us be.

Like how the flowers bloom
and wilt in different hands,

we become the way we are
through endless breaks and bends.

Like how some wish upon the stars
for just another chance,

we have been the way we are
and will be til the very end.