enjambments

"Hey, did you see this thing online?" I find myself replying "No." almost every time. My observation is that a lot of people have been spouting objective "facts" that are based on what they see online. What is referenced in real life conversations is based on what they saw online and not on the experience they get or their own observation. I find it hard to relate to other people because I don't share the same feed as them. Interests become blurred, and the conversation stalls at a reference I was never shown. The question itself is not new. People have always bonded over things none of them witnessed: the game last night, the headline that morning, the episode everyone watched at the same hour. That talk was mediated too, but the…

I can say for sure that I choose to see people act with good intentions. I choose this because I do not want to be caught up in the momentum of spiraling pessimism, when it would get me to a point that the world becomes a bleak and unbearable place solely because of the simple fact that humans exist.

I know how it feels to hate everyone. It is a path towards self-destruction and denial of the self. After deciding to see the good in people, I found that assuming the worst in people is such an easy thing to do. While I do have an apprehension towards doing things the easy way, I found it to be equally inefficient if you are serious about improving yourself. Perhaps this is why I am inclined to say that suffering is essential to one's…

The body keeps its own history. Not in straight lines, but in fragments, in whispers, in the language between breaths. My grandmother’s hands are a landscape of forgotten routes, each wrinkle a story that pulses with its own complicated rhythm. She sits by the window where afternoon light creates intricate shadows, her mind drifting between moments like a bird moving between branches laden with memory. Some days she knows me completely — my name falls from her lips with absolute certainty, her eyes bright with recognition. Other days, I am a stranger who looks familiar, who carries the weight of memories she can no longer hold. I watch her fingers, once nimble with knitting needles and garden tools, now tracing invisible patterns on her…